


The Gamete Indeterminacy

by xmarisolx



Series: Marisol's Shamy 'Verse [2]
Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 71,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xmarisolx/pseuds/xmarisolx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being away for two years, Amy is in town to take care of some business.  Meanwhile, one theoretical physicist has a decision to make that will affect his career… and entire life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _The Big Bang Theory_ is an American sitcom created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, and produced by them along with Lee Aronsohn. It is a Warner Brothers production and airs on CBS. All characters, plots and creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to their respective owners. I, the author of the fan fiction, do not, in any way, profit monetarily from the story.  
>  **Author's Notes:** This is a companion piece to “The Coitus Consideration” and exists in the same universe, though it is not a sequel, and you needn’t have read it to understand this story.

Amy lay back against the cold cot, mentally running through the nucleotide and amino acid sequences of the neurotransmitter norepinephrine. It was the best distraction she had available to keep her from thinking about what was going on south of the border.  After all, pelvis exams were—putting it mildly—one of her least favorite activities.

“All done, Amy,” the doctor said after what seemed like an eternity of prodding, and then tapped Amy on the leg, signaling her to sit up.  “Everything looks good.  As you’ve requested, I’ll forward all the records to the facility in Pasadena, but all in all, it looks like you are of sound feminine health, both structurally and hormonally.”

Amy sighed with relief.  “Good,” she nodded.

“One thing, though,” her doctor added.  “I would like you to get a mammogram.”

This was shocking news.  “There’s no history of breast cancer in my family,” Amy said, “and I’m not yet 40.”

“I understand,” the doctor said.  “And there is no reason to believe that it won’t come back negative.  But it’s just standard protocol.  In the off-chance that you do have breast cancer—and I’m sure you don’t—they won’t go forward with the procedure.”

Amy nodded.  “OK.”

The doctor pulled out her iPad.  “You’ll have to see the receptionist on your way out to arrange an exact time, but I seem to have some openings on Wednesday three weeks from today.”

“Three weeks from today?” Amy repeated.  “There’s no way I can wait that long. I leave Los Angeles tomorrow, and I’ll only be in Pasadena a week before I move on to Washington.”  She was desperate.  “How long would I have to wait to have one done locally in Pasadena?”

“I could probably schedule you for one at our sister facility within the next couple weeks.”

“Couple weeks?”  Amy gasped.  “That’s still too far away.”  She thought a minute.  “Do I have any other options?”

The doctor drummed her fingers on her tablet.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

Amy forced down her frustration and tried to remain calm.  She wondered if her life would ever just work again.  She remembered a time when things were good:  good work, good home, good friends…

She took a deep breath.  She was sure of her choice; she had to be, she was in too deep.  But that fact didn’t make this any easier.  The doctor noticed her concern.

“Amy, trust me, everything will be okay,” she smiled, and placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder.  “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll make a great mother.”

Amy felt a shudder go down her spine.Amy lay back against the cold cot, mentally running through the nucleotide and amino acid sequences of the neurotransmitter norepinephrine. It was the best distraction she had available to keep her from thinking about what was going on south of the border.  After all, pelvis exams were—putting it mildly—one of her least favorite activities.

“All done, Amy,” the doctor said after what seemed like an eternity of prodding, and then tapped Amy on the leg, signaling her to sit up.  “Everything looks good.  As you’ve requested, I’ll forward all the records to the facility in Pasadena, but all in all, it looks like you are of sound feminine health, both structurally and hormonally.”

Amy sighed with relief.  “Good,” she nodded.

“One thing, though,” her doctor added.  “I would like you to get a mammogram.”

This was shocking news.  “There’s no history of breast cancer in my family,” Amy said, “and I’m not yet 40.”

“I understand,” the doctor said.  “And there is no reason to believe that it won’t come back negative.  But it’s just standard protocol.  In the off-chance that you do have breast cancer—and I’m sure you don’t—they won’t go forward with the procedure.”

Amy nodded.  “OK.”

The doctor pulled out her iPad.  “You’ll have to see the receptionist on your way out to arrange an exact time, but I seem to have some openings on Wednesday three weeks from today.”

“Three weeks from today?” Amy repeated.  “There’s no way I can wait that long. I leave Los Angeles tomorrow, and I’ll only be in Pasadena a week before I move on to Washington.”  She was desperate.  “How long would I have to wait to have one done locally in Pasadena?”

“I could probably schedule you for one at our sister facility within the next couple weeks.”

“Couple weeks?”  Amy gasped.  “That’s still too far away.”  She thought a minute.  “Do I have any other options?”

The doctor drummed her fingers on her tablet.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

Amy forced down her frustration and tried to remain calm.  She wondered if her life would ever just work again.  She remembered a time when things were good:  good work, good home, good friends…

She took a deep breath.  She was sure of her choice; she had to be, she was in too deep.  But that fact didn’t make this any easier.  The doctor noticed her concern.

“Amy, trust me, everything will be okay,” she smiled, and placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder.  “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll make a great mother.”

Amy felt a shudder go down her spine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard and Bernadette celebrate their anniversary; Amy arrives in Pasadena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the Shamy kicks into high-gear on the show, I hope there is still a place for this story. We'll see...

Leonard looked at the assembled group scattered around the table; there was a time that they had been like this, together, all the time, but the increasing demands caused by their changing lives meant that evenings like this one happened less and less often.  But, tonight was a special occasion—a time for festivity and a return to form, of sorts.

Leonard stood up, tapping loudly on the side of his wine glass.  “I would like to propose a toast,” he announced.  Now that the meal was all but done, the once lively conversation had simmered to a muted chatter and eyelids were drooping with drink and fatigue.  But at Leonard’s beckoning, everyone came to attention, and Bernadette and Howard smiled at each other. They held hands, their faces marked with keen anticipation.

Leonard raised his glass and then stopped.  “Hold on,” he said.  “Maybe I should wait for your mother to get back from the restroom.”

“HA!” Howard snickered.  “After two glasses of Manischewitz wine, a pound of brisket and two servings of halvah… her foray into the restroom will most likely exceed the length of your visit.”

“Howard!” Bernadette said, smacking him on the arm.  “We’re at the dinner table.”

“Everyone’s done eating,” Howard whined.

“Can this toast be done and over with?” Sheldon blurted.  “My Diet Coke is already well on its way to losing its fizz.”

Leonard cleared his throat. “Fine then.  I just want to toast all of us… for what we have and how far we’ve come.”  He looked down to his left, touching Penny on the shoulder.  “I’d like to toast Penny, for her companionship and love; Sheldon, for your recent string of professional successes; and Raj, for his budding romance with Anoushka.  But most of all, this is to Howard and Bernadette.  Their union of three years has been a testimony to the beauty and integrity of true love and the joy of a match well made.  Here’s to decades more of wedded bliss.”

The kitchen was filled with the sounds of glasses and a Coke can clinking together.  Raj, predictably, started crying.

“Really, Raj?” Howard said.  “Can we just have one night without the waterworks?”

“They’re tears of joy,” Raj said, dabbing his eyes with a napkin.  “And of prurient jealousy.”

Bernadette shook her head.  “I thought getting a girlfriend would finally make you happy.”

“She’s all the way in Canada, Bernadette.  Chatting, emails and Google Plus just aren’t enough.”   He took a massive swig from his glass of champagne.

“Oh, come now,” Leonard said.  “You should really learn to be happy for others.”

“I _am_ happy for them,” he replied, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.  “I’m sad for me.”  He turned to Leonard.  “You have Penny, so you don’t understand.”

“What?” Penny said at the sound of her name, waking from a losing battle against nodding off.  “Is it time to go yet?”

“Honestly, Penny,” Sheldon said.  “You could at least  _pretend_  to be enjoying yourself.  If I’ve successfully put forth the effort to do so than surely you, being an—ahem—‘ _actress’_  can do so as well.”

“Sheldon?” Penny called.

“Yes?”

“Bite me.”

“Don’t talk to him that way,” Raj said in his defense.  “You don’t understand what it’s like to be single year after year after year.  Sheldon nearly died after Amy left.”

The hush of conversation and clinking silverware came to a dead stop, and an eerie silence fell over the dining room; all eyes turned to Sheldon.   _His_ eyes, however, were fixed on Raj and were radiating a hatred he usually reserved for people who belittled the possibility of time travel.

“At no time in my life have I  _ever_  even been _close_ to death, Raj, the  _least_  of those times being when Amy relocated to Los Angeles.”

“Don’t be a hero, dude,” Raj said, sympathetically.  “You really liked her a lot, and she stepped on your abandoned heart like a dirty hobo crushes an empty pop can before he trades it in for the recycling money.”

Sheldon stood up, indignant.  “That labored metaphor belies the fact that my heart remains the bastion of health and willing subject to logical thought that it has _always_ been, and I  _demand,_ Rajesh Koothrapali, that you retract your inebriated comments at once.”

Raj stood up too, considerably more wobbly.  “Well  _I_  demand that… I… don’t… do that,” he said.

A voice rang out from the other room.  “I demand that everyone either shut the hell up or carry their big, drunk tukhuses out of my house!” Mrs. Wolowitz yelled.

“Oh, the irony,” Howard muttered.

The invited guests, however, exchanged looks and then collectively rose.

“It’s time I got Mr. Chatterbox home,” Leonard said.  He grabbed one of Raj’s arms, and Penny took the other, bringing him to his feet.

“Then, how will I get home?” Sheldon asked.  

“You’re going home with us, too,” Leonard answered.

“I most certainly will not,” Sheldon shot back.  “I refuse to ride in the same vehicle with that raving mad drunkard.”

“Fine then, catch a cab,” Leonard said, walking Raj to the door.

“Leonard!” Sheldon gasped.  “You know I despise public transportation.”

“Then go with us,” Leonard said.

“No!” Sheldon retorted, following behind the three of them.  “And I am not bluffing, Leonard.”

Leonard shrugged.  “I don’t think you are.”

“I mean it; I will not budge on this matter.  I refuse to ride with him.”

Leonard nodded.  “I believe you,” he said.  Then he, Penny and Raj left through the door, shutting it behind them.

Sheldon looked at the door then at Howard and Bernadette, who were still seated at the table.

“By any chance, would you all be willing to give me a ride home?” he asked, hopefully.

The couple shook their heads ‘no’ in unison.

“Then how am I to get there?” Sheldon asked, pitifully.

“You have two options,” Howard answered.  “You can either ride home with them or,” he smiled at Bernadette, “bunk with my mother.”

Struck with panic, Sheldon ran for the door.  “Leonard, Leonard,” he called.  “Wait up!  Don’t leave me.”

+

Leonard looked at his watch as they all climbed the stairs to their apartments; he didn’t know how it got to be midnight so quickly, and he looked ahead to work the following day with pure dread.  He was practically pulling Penny up the stairs, and Sheldon dragged his feet behind them.

When they reached their floor, the three of them stood a moment, staring at each other wearily, trying to orchestrate a goodbye.

“Can you leave us a sec?” Leonard said.

“Sure,” Penny said, and went into the apartment.  “’Night Sheldon,” she said.

“Goodnight, Penny,” Sheldon said, sticking his key in the door.

“Sheldon, we need to, you know, do this more often,” Leonard said.

Sheldon cleared his throat.  “Frankly, Leonard, if I never darkened the door of Mrs. Wolowitz’s house again, it would be too soon.”

“No, not _exactly_ what we did tonight. I mean, we need to, you know, see more of each other.”  He sighed.  “We hardly see each other anymore.”

Sheldon paused with the key in the door.  “We are employed at the same university and share the same living facility.”

“I realize that,” Leonard said.  “I guess I just mean—and take this how I mean it—I miss you.”

Sheldon turned around, clearly affected by Leonard’s words.  After a moment he turned back to the door opening it.  “Don’t be silly, Leonard,” he said.  “I certainly don’t miss you.”

Leonard smiled a little.  He really hadn’t expected anything different from Sheldon.  “Goodnight, Sheldon.”

“Goodnight, Leonard,” he said and closed the door.  Leonard walked across the hall and found Penny asleep on the couch “waiting” for him.  He lifted her up and walked back to the bedroom.  “Come on, girly,” he said.  “Let’s get you to bed.”

+

Amy stood outside a moment, struck with a profound mix of reverence and fear. The moment she had spent so many weeks, months ( _years?_ ) preparing for was here.  And yet, it was all so overwhelming, she would have turned around and gone home if she hadn’t been so sure that what she was doing was absolutely right.  She read the words again:

CENTRAL PASADENA SPERM BANK

She took a deep breath and went inside. 

Stepping through the doors, she was greeted by a wide, white, glowing foyer and made the eternal walk to the front desk.  She looked around, taken at the fact that she seemed to be the only client there.  She cleared her throat getting the receptionist’s attention.

“Are you Ms. Fowler?” the woman asked.”  Amy nodded.

“I am,” Amy said, extending her hand.

“And I’m Cindy, your consultant,” the woman said standing.  They shook hands.  “How are you, Ms. Fowler?”

“Fine, thank you,” she said.  “And I’m a doctor, but you may call me Amy.”

“Duly noted, _Amy_ ,” the Cindy replied.  “Follow me.”

Amy followed the woman to a back office and accepted the woman’s invitation to sit down. 

“So,” Cindy said, “May we get started?”

“By all means,” Amy replied.

“Great. Let’s start with a little conversation,” the woman began.  “Is that okay?”  She spoke with a determined cheeriness that made Amy want to mirror her glee, which was… tiresome.

“Sure.”

“Great,” Cindy said nodding.  “First of all, what do you like about yourself?”

The question caught Amy off-guard.  “About…  _myself_ _?_ ”

“Yes,” Cindy said, still cheery.

“Well,” Amy began, “I like that I am a female excelling in a male dominated field.  I pride myself on my intelligence, my persistence, my ambition.  I’m happy that I lost 15 pounds last year.”

Cindy smiled.  “Splendid.  All great reasons to like oneself.”

“Aren’t you going to write this down?” Amy asked.

“No,” Cindy answered, without explanation.  “Second question: What _don’t_ you like about yourself?”

Amy found the question surprising.  Even _five_ years ago, she could have answered this question with an essay that stretched for miles.  But after she’d decided to accept herself for what she was, that list had been pushed into the recesses of her mind.  She wasn’t eager to go and dig it out.  “How is this relevant to—“

“Please,” Cindy interrupted.  “Just… answer the question.”

“Very well then,” Amy said, straightening up.  “I sometimes find that I am _too_ ambitious.  I’ve been known to intimidate my colleagues unintentionally.”

Cindy didn’t answer for a moment.  “This is not a job interview, Amy,” she said at last.  There’s no one here you have to impress.  You can be fully honest.”

“I’m aware of that fact,” Amy answered, a little defensively.  This was not what she had had in mind for today’s visit.

“Good; then let’s begin again,” Cindy said.  “What  _don’t_  you like about yourself?”

Amy squirmed a little in her seat.  “I, um,” she stumbled.  “I’m often bothered by the fact that my right boob is smaller than my left.”

Cindy cleared her throat, a bit less cheery.  “Why don’t we move on to our final question: What does the word ‘love’ mean?”

Amy knew this one.  “Love,” Amy answered, “is the action, feeling or notion of intense affection for someone or something.”

Cindy waited a beat.  “Is that all?”

Amy nodded.  “Yes.”

“Very well then,” she said, lifting a small computer notebook from her desk and placing it in front of Amy.  “You have completed the first step as a client of the Central Pasadena Sperm Bank.”

Amy was confused.  “So, what do you do with that information?”

“That wasn’t for me, Amy,” Cindy said.  “Those questions were for you.  A little self-reflection is good before taking a step like this one.  Now,” Cindy continued.  “Central Pasadena Sperm bank is one of the largest sperm banks in Southern California and is fully accredited by the American Association of Tissue Banks…“ She droned on with information that Amy had already studied in detail and committed to memory.  “I’m going to leave you for ten minutes or so with our online database so that you can determine which characteristics are important to you and then make a list of your preferred donors.  When I come back, we can work on narrowing that list down to one.”

With that, she rose and left.

Amy leaned forward and read aloud: “Preferred ancestry: Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, African, Middle Eastern or Pacific Islander.”

She took a deep breath and made her first selection.   There were questions, questions and more questions: multiple-choice questions, true-and-false questions and fill in the blanks; questions about height and weight and about age and employment; questions about dental history and dating history; questions about sexual orientation and gender identity.  And Lord knows there were questions about eye color and hair color and skin color.

There was a question about… intelligence.

Amy looked at her options: high, normal, or other.  “Other” was always an option.  She’d had a number in mind, but there was nowhere to put it.  She clicked “other” and soldiered on.  She finally came to the question she’d been waiting for.

“Are you done with this questionnaire?”  She clicked “yes” and anxiously waited for the results.

There was just one line.

“No match found.”

+

When Leonard had first announced that he would be moving in with Penny across the hall, Sheldon’s initial indignation at Leonard’s “flagrant disregard for his leasing commitment” was soon replaced with elation at the idea of having the place to himself.  After re-fitting the Roommate Agreement to have Leonard pay a monthly penalty for breaking the lease—Sheldon hurriedly committed to making the place his own.  Sure, Leonard had been, by all counts, as satisfactory a companion as one could hope for.  But sometime shortly after the debacle he’d suffered with Amy, Sheldon had come to the firm conclusion that he was his own best company, and he had been chomping at the bit to make his theory a reality.

It turned out he was seeing Leonard just as often… and Raj more than ever.

Leonard knocked on Sheldon’s door for a third time and got no response.  He paused a moment before letting himself in.  Everything was pitch black.  He turned on the light to find Sheldon staring dead at him from the couch.  He yelped in horror.

“God, Sheldon!” Leonard said, putting his hand on his heart.  “You scared the crap out of me.”

“An unfortunate consequence of burglary,” Sheldon said.

“I’m not going to burglarize you,” he said, moving towards the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door.  “I just wanted to make myself a bowl of cereal.”

“Seriously, Leonard,” he sighed.  “At some point you have to actually start _living_ across the hall.”

“And miss out on annoying you?” Leonard said.  “Where’s the fun in that?”

Sheldon stood and took a seat at his desk.  “And may I ask why you can’t prepare meals in your own kitchen?  I’m under the impression that each apartment in the building comes equipped with one.”

“Because I can’t keep any soy milk in our apartment.  Penny drinks it up like it’s the last day on earth.”

“So why don’t you just buy two cartons: one for her and one for yourself?” Sheldon suggested.

Leonard pondered this suggestion—then rejected it.  “Nah, I’ll just keep it over here,” he said.  “How else will I get a chance for you to yell at me?” 

Sheldon rolled his eyes.  Leonard chuckled to himself as he walked to the door, and then stopped. 

“I forgot to mention.  After that pipe exploded in his ceiling yesterday, Raj has been between a rock and hard place with his landlord and his renter’s insurance company.  They keep going back and forth between who will pay for the water damage to his apartment.”

Sheldon didn’t look up from his monitor.  “A somewhat compelling story that ultimately is of very little interest to me.”

“Well, until it’s worked out, he’ll be staying in my room.  Goodbye,” he said and opened the door.

Sheldon turned dramatically, incensed.  “Wait just a minute, mister,” he cried. “Raj will be doing no such thing.  And, for the record, that is not _your_ room.   _Your_ room is across the hall.  That is _my_ room.   _All_ of the rooms are _my_ rooms because this is _my_ apartment.”

“You can’t sleep in both bedrooms, Sheldon.  Let him stay in one.”

“I most certainly will not.  It’s the principal of the matter.  I get to decide— _not you_ —who stays in my home and when,” Sheldon protested.  “The matter is decided.”

Leonard looked at his former roommate with annoyance.  “This isn’t about your ‘principles,’ Sheldon.  Be honest.  This is because Raj mentioned Amy at dinner the other night.”

At the sound of the name, Sheldon was pushed from his chair and walked into the kitchen.  “It has nothing to do with that,” he spat.  He was extremely agitated and began to run dishwater in the sink.

Leonard drew closer.  “Sheldon you have to let it go.”

“Let her _go_ is exactly what I’ve done,” he said.

“I was talking about Raj’s comment,” Leonard said.

Sheldon was clearly embarrassed.  “Of course,” he said, vigorously scrubbing at a glass tumbler.

Leonard spoke again.  “Sheldon I know the pain of getting dumped by a girlfriend.”

Sheldon spun around, slamming a rag against the counter. “For the millionth time, Leonard, she was not my girlfriend, and she did not ‘dump’ me.  She _betrayed_ me, and I entreat you to recognize the difference.”

Leonard conceded.  “Fine.  She _betrayed_ you.”

Sheldon, somewhat appeased, took a hard breath and then turned back to his washing.   

“Either way,” Leonard continued, “your relationship with her was not all bad.  She brought a lot of positive to your life.  But by walking around with this… _bitterness_ about the whole thing, you’re stuck with all of the bad and none of the good.”

Sheldon was unmoved.  “I ask, _please_ Leonard, that the matter be dropped.”

“Okay, fine,” he shrugged.  “But let Raj stay over here.”

Sheldon swallowed hard.  “Fine.  He can stay.  But he has three days… _tops_.”

“Thank you,” Leonard said gleefully.  He walked out, then peeped his head back in.  “He just texted that he’s on his way,” he added, and disappeared again.

When Sheldon heard the door shut, he turned off the water and collapsed into his desk chair. After a moment of reflection, he resumed typing away frantically on his laptop, working furiously (literally _and_ figuratively) while dreading the awaited knock. Not two minutes later, it came.

He rose to answer, his gait unyielding and his jaw set; he did not intend to mince words with Raj. He threw the door open.

"You seriously need—" he began, but stopped, rendered speechless by who was standing at the door.

"Hello, Sheldon."

It was… Amy Farrah Fowler.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon is shocked to find Amy standing at his door.

** CHAPTER THREE **

It had been a long time since the former friends had clapped eyes on each other.  Their last interaction—a full two years prior—had ended bitterly and unresolved, and Amy had worked hard to put him and the entire nasty business out of her mind. 

Apparently Sheldon had too.

“I imagined I might receive such a reception,” she remarked after several moments of stunned silence.

“Amy,” he said finally. “I was… expecting Raj.”

It crossed Amy’s mind to mention that in their entire time as acquaintances she had never known Raj and Sheldon to have much of a rapport, but she couldn’t help but think how that fact (and much more) might have changed in the intervening years.  Suddenly, a deep sense of nostalgia came over her and she fell silent.  Sheldon, characteristically, was not bothered by the void.

“I’m not going to stay,” she said by way of nervous explanation.  “I was passing through and I decided to stop on an impulse.”

But Sheldon’s silence continued for what seemed like an eternity.  She considered backing away slowly, turning on her heels and running back from whence she’d come when Sheldon suddenly stirred, as if awakening from deep thought.

“Amy,” he began.

“Yes… Sheldon?”

He squinted as he asked, “Why are you here?”

Just then, there was a rattling of the doorknob across the hall and Amy rushed past Sheldon and hid from view.  Sheldon closed the door revealing her cowering behind it.  His face begged for an explanation.

“I can’t… I can’t… talk to Penny right now,” she said.

“Why not?” Sheldon asked, bewildered.

“Because too much has… I just…” She stopped there.

The two stood, unsettled and staring at each other, mutually astounded by their current circumstance.

A second later, there was a knock on the door.

“That should be Raj,” he muttered and opened the door.

It was Leonard.

“Sheldon, I’m serious this time.  You can’t keep using hand sanitizer to ‘clean’ my mouth guard.  It makes my tongue burn and it’s disgusting.”

“If you don’t want me to clean it,” Sheldon replied smugly, “then don’t leave it over here.”

Leonard went to respond, but noticed someone stirring in the background.  “Amy?”

“Hello Leonard,” she replied.

He walked forward, stepping past Sheldon.  “Get over here girl and give me a hug,” he said, throwing his arms around her.  She smiled brightly.

“Your warmth makes one long for the days of yesteryear,” she said with a smile.

“Have a seat,” he said motioning for the couch.  “Don’t tell me Sheldon has been keeping you standing.”

“He has not,” she said, walking over to the couch.  “I promised my visit would be short.”

“Sheldon,” Leonard said, scolding, “You didn’t tell me Amy was in town.”

“I am just now finding out myself,” Sheldon replied.

“I was actually passing this way and stopped by on an impulse.  I wasn’t even sure if you still lived here.”

“Leonard doesn’t,” Sheldon replied.

“Oh, no?” Amy said.  “To where have you moved?”

Leonard answered with some embarrassment.  “Over… across the hall… with Penny.”

“Ah, then I take it that you all are doing well,” she said.  “It’s good to hear.”

Leonard just smiled.  “And… how’s Virgil?”

Amy answered blankly.  “Virgil is fine.”

Leonard sensed the awkwardness; he changed tacks.  “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… well,” she said, rallying some.  “I’ve almost entirely moved on from my work with primates.  While I technically still do research in the field of cognitive and behavioral neuroscience, I’ve drifted from my concentration on electrophysiology and transitioned principally to genetic analysis as it relates to neuron function,” she explained.  “It basically amounts to more time in front of a computer and less time scooping up monkey crap.”

Leonard chuckled.  “As good a reason as any to make a change.”

“And you?” she asked.  “How have you been?”

“Great.  Still in experimental nuclear physics.  Chugging along.”  He looked at Sheldon who was as still as a statue, gazing intently at Amy.  He tried to break the ice.  “Sheldon, lately, has had some exciting news.”

Sheldon snapped towards Leonard at the sound of his name.  He turned away before he spoke, as if he were trying to recall what the news was.  He cleared his throat.  “Um… I’ve recently published some papers on string theory.”

Leonard was surprised at Sheldon’s uncharacteristically succinct answer.  “He’s being modest,” Leonard said.  “His was awarded Physicist of the Year by the American Physical Society, the youngest ever to garner that distinction.  _And…_ ” he continued, “his most recent peer-reviewed papers were critically celebrated throughout the field; some have speculated that they made lead to a paradigm shift in the field of brane cosmology.”

Amy nodded with some recognition.  “I seem to recall one of my friends from the Physics Department calling me up when she realized that you were _the_ Dr. Sheldon Cooper.  Apparently, one of her professors was all atwitter about some paper you wrote on P-branes.”

“You… _mentioned_ me to her?” Sheldon asked.

Amy’s face sobered some.  “I might have said that we’d known each other.”

There was another knock on the door.

Sheldon threw his head back in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“If your name is Rajesh Koothrappali, come in.”

“And… if it’s not?” came a heavily accented voice from behind the door.

“Then… don’t come in,” Sheldon said.

The door swung open and in came two legs with two arms tenuously holding an enormous mound of bottles, towels, small boxes and other miscellanea.  The mound was hiding the face of the person that bore it.

“And what in the devil did you bring all that for?” Sheldon asked.

“I may be here a while,” the mound whined.  “I don’t want to sacrifice my beauty routine.”

“Well then I suggest you march that pile of junk right back downstairs to your car.  If there is a God in heaven, a notion I’d otherwise reject, you won’t be here this time tomorrow.”

“I’m fine, Sheldon,” the mound said sarcastically.  “Thanks for asking.”

“I’ve heard him speak so rarely,” Amy remarked, “that it still comes as a shock that he has that accent.”

At the sound of a female voice, Raj dropped all his belongings and threw both hands over his mouth.

“Dear Lord in heaven,” Sheldon moaned.  “Why hast thou forsaken me?”

“Sheldon,” Leonard called.

“Yes,” Sheldon answered.

“You talked to your mom today, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Sheldon replied.  “Why?”

Amy perked up.  “And how is Mrs. Cooper?”

Sheldon instantly returning to his sour disposition.   “Suitable,” he answered.  Amy had had enough.

“Sheldon, I didn’t come here to be shunned,” she said.  Leonard and Raj looked at each other with wide-eyed shock.

“Excuse me?” Sheldon said.

“I came for polite, if not cordial, conversation, reconnection even, but I’ve mostly been subjected to disturbing looks and cool exchanges.”

“Well, I am sorry if your arrival has not been met with the jubilee you desire,” Sheldon retorted, “but I have been subjected to much worse treatment at your hands.”

Amy was taken aback.  “Sheldon, your lack of awareness of your own abrasive behavior only speaks to the exact callousness you accuse me of.”

“And Amy your delusional attempts at feigned intimacy and are well-documented and account for _many_ a shocking decision,” Sheldon said curtly.

“Shocking because you don’t agree with them?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “Shocking because they come from the same brain that claims to have an advanced understanding of the human mind.”  He turned his head muttering. “Neurobiologist my White patootie.”

A silence fell over the room.

Amy rose.  “And with that I’ll be leaving,” she said.  Leonard rose with her.

“Don’t leave Amy,” he said.  “That’s not what Sheldon meant to say.”

“It most certainly _is_ what I meant to say,” Sheldon countered.  “And if she wants to leave, let her.  Good riddance.”

Amy visibly shrunk at the statement.  “Well then I thank you for your honesty, Sheldon,” she said. She went to leave, and then added.  “Thank you, Leonard, for your classic hospitality, and Raj for your warm silence.”  Raj nodded.  Then she left, shutting the door behind her.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” Leonard said.  “Your behavior was deplorable.”

Sheldon cowered under the accusation.  “Well she started it,” he said.

“She started it?” Leonard said.  “Do you realize what it must have taken for her to make the first step in mending ways?  And instead of finding amiability, her efforts were met with arrogance and rudeness.”

“Oh, please,” Sheldon said with disgust.  “You give her too much credit.  She came to flaunt her lifestyle in my face.  Did you see that ridiculous Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt she was wearing?”

“Sheldon, she totally wanted to jump your bones,” Raj said.

Sheldon sighed, exasperated.  “Raj, can your selective mutism be calibrated to include everyone? Or at least to include me?” he asked.

“You are so rude, dude,” Raj answered.

“One more word out of you and you’re sleeping in your car,” Sheldon barked.  Raj made the motion of zipping his lips.

“Raj is right,” Leonard said.

Sheldon snapped his head around.  “Not you too.”

“I don’t know if I would have expressed it that way, but she is _definitely_ searching for something and thought she could find it here with you.”

“You are wrong,” Sheldon said, rising to place a glass in the kitchen, “because she is in a relationship with  _Virgil_ .  Remember him?  The man you were so eager to know about.”

Leonard just shook his head.  “You can’t let it end like that, Sheldon.  She is probably still in the building; if you hurry you probab—“

“LEONARD!” Sheldon yelled.  He leaned against the counter dropping his head.  “I don’t want to talk about Amy anymore.  _Ever_ .”

Leonard and Raj looked at each other.  The latter shrugged as the former picked up his mouth guard off of the coffee table.

“Where do you keep your towels?” Raj asked.

“In the closet to the left of the bathroom,” Sheldon answered.  Raj began to collect his fallen objects and Leonard wordlessly left out of the door.

+

Amy was having a late night.  She sat Indian style on her hotel room bed, trying yet again to go through the sperm bank’s online questionnaire.  She had placated its tawdry inquiries time and time again, and yet she still couldn’t find a match that was appealing.  When she put in the criteria she _really_ wanted, she kept coming up with the same result… “No match found.”  Compromising, however, meant getting results that included seedy club owners and men with eight wisdom teeth.  On top of everything, she was hurriedly preparing for her move to Washington, which meant daily calls to insurance companies, utility services, banks and the like.  She slammed her laptop shut and lay back on the bed.  She had many bad days in her life, but this one had to qualify as one of the worse. 

She was tired—so tired, in fact, she went to bed with all of her clothes on, pulling the covers over her head.  She took a deep breath, snuggled into her pillow and let her thoughts wander to the most far-flung abysses of her mind.  In the cloak of night, all by herself, she dared to dream about the things she was too afraid to even utter in the light of day.  She fantasized about her ideal life, the _perfect_ life: going to work each morning and unraveling how human cognition and emotion are mapped to specific neural substrates; walking through the door and stooping to pet a pot-bellied pig named Dexter; picking up her children—Camillo and Aditi—from school, children who would then rush home to play three-dimensional chess and Dr Who Monopoly; and then whipping up the Native American treasures of mutton stew and [nokake](http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Nokake&action=edit&redlink=1) bread for dinner.

She also thought about Sheldon.  Not _this_ Sheldon—resentful and angry—but, the old Sheldon.  The one that used to Skype her every evening with some conundrum about neutrons or neurons or nothing at all.  Who took as much delight in a well-worded pun as a scathing zinger.  Who used to think of her as the only other person who was suited to him—and him to her.

The Sheldon that kissed her one night in San Diego.

She knew she had to put him out of her mind.  Times had changed, things had changed, _they_ had changed.  If she knew nothing else, she knew that the past was the past and future was the only place to live, no matter uncertain it may be.  And her future was at Central Pasadena Sperm Bank.  _That much_ was certain.

And so, with that though in mind, she turned out the lights and went to sleep.

+

Sheldon was having his own late night—with his mom.

“Shelly,” came the firm, but nurturing, voice on the other side of the phone.  “I don’t have the foggiest idea what an electric Bunsen heating mantle is but I’m more than certain you can’t use it to make biscuits.”

Sheldon nodded. “I guess you’re right.  That would account for their rubbery consistency and burnt undersides.”

“Now keep your food in the kitchen and all that braniac stuff in the lab, and I’m sure both will turn out a lot better.”

Sheldon sighed.  There was something he had wanted to tell his mother all night, but hadn’t gotten up the nerve.

“Mom,” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, Shelly?”

“Guess who came by tonight?”

“Who?”

He paused a moment.  “Amy.”

There was a long silence.

“That quirky little brain doctor you used to be friends with?” she finally asked.

Sheldon sighed.  “Yes, mother.  Her.”

“Well I’ll be,” Mrs. Cooper said.  “Well… how is she?”

“Completely unrecognizable.  As you would say, she was dressed up like the whore of Babylon.”

“Well I find that pretty hard to believe,” she replied.  

“Mom, she was wearing jeans; and ones that highlighted her plentiful derrière I might add.”

“Cut her some slack, Shelly,” she replied.  “Did she say what she wanted?”

“Nothing as far as I can tell.  I haven’t the foggiest idea why she turned up, and I certainly hope she never returns.”

Mrs. Cooper gasped a little, her tone changing.  “Do not tell me you treated that girl with anything but the kindness and hospitality that I brought you up with.”

There was a long silence.

“Shelly?” Mrs. Cooper repeated.

“What? You asked me not to tell you,” Sheldon replied.

“ _SHELLY!_ ” she yelled.

“Well, what other option did I have?  As far as I could tell she had little more motive for darkening my door than to taunt me and spy on me.”

He could feel his mother’s disapproval through the phone.  “Shelly, there is so much about you that makes me beam with pride.  But there’s one thing you got in you that’s rotten to the bone.”

“Mom, you don’t unders—“

“I understand full well, Shelly.  And that’s that you’ve always been like that: too proud to admit that you need anything or anybody.”

“I know I need things, Mom,” she said.  “I currently need an upgrade to my subatomic particle modeling software.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Shelly,” his mom yelled.  “Now you listen to me.  You think you’re all high and mighty because you got some brains.  Well God bless you, but there’s more to life than monsoon burners and numbers on paper.  And unless you do something about that haughtiness you got in you, one day you’re gonna wake up and want to give it all away for something you want real bad.  I hope that day never comes Shelly.”

Sheldon was rendered silent.  “I have to go, Mom,” he said, and hung up.

+

Amy was greeted with a chiming door as she entered the gynecologist’s office.  She walked over to the reception desk.

“I’m here for Dr. Morgan.”

The receptionist looked down at a paper and then typed something into her computer.  “Ah yes,” she said.  “The emergency appointment.  Please have a seat for one moment.  The doctor is waiting for you.”  Amy nodded and turned back towards the crowd. In her direct line of sight was a young blond woman staring dead at her and rapidly heading her way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy runs into an old friend at the doctor's office.

"Amy?" Penny squealed.

"Hello, Penny," Amy said. Penny marched over and threw her arms around Amy; the two women embraced.

"What in the hell are you doing in Pasadena?" Penny asked.

Amy shrugged. "You know."

Penny's face went white. "Don't tell me you're pregnant."

"No, no, no," Amy insisted. "A mammogram."

Penny look confused. "And you couldn't get that done in Los Angeles?"

"Oh, yeah… of course" Amy scrambled for an excuse, "but, the um… the beach blondes with ample bosom that swarm all over that freakishly beautiful city make such a doctor's visit considerably more intimidating." Both woman looked down at Penny's chest, neither missing the irony of the situation.

"I can imagine," she said.

"So… how have you been?" Amy finally asked.

"You would know if you called me occasionally," Penny replied. "Just because you fell out with _Sheldon_ doesn't mean that you can't call me anymore."

"I know," Amy said, her words tinged with remorse. "It's just, well, after my relationship with Sheldon imploded, so to speak, I was unsure of how to proceed with our mutual acquaintances."

"It doesn't have to be awkward."

Amy nodded.

"Ms. Fowler," the reception called. "The doctor will see you now."

"Call me," Penny said in parting. "My number hasn't changed."

"I will," Amy said. They hugged again, and she walked off, slipping behind the black curtain.

"Guess who I saw today!" Penny exploded as Leonard came through the door. She took two wine glasses from the cabinet.

Leonard shrugged, scooping up a spoonful of cereal. "Who?"

"Amy friggin' Farrah Fowler!" she answered. She poured each of them a glass of chardonnay.

"Yeah, she's back in town apparently," Leonard said calmly.

"No she's not, she had a doctor's app—wait, how do you know?" Penny asked.

"Because she was over at Sheldon's yesterday."

"Sheldon's?"

"Yep."

Penny was displeased. "That wench didn't even tell me she and Sheldon were back talking."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say _that_ ," Leonard said.

"Why? What happened?"

Leonard sighed. "Well, long story short: Amy was Amy, Sheldon was Sheldon," he made an explosion gesture. "Kaboom!"

Penny thought on that a moment. "Well, as they say, 'Where there's smoke, there's fire.'"

"Yeah, that's what they _say_ ," Leonard said, "But, I think there's just too much bad blood between them to ever go back. They'll probably never speak to each other again."

"That's sad," Penny said.

Leonard nodded. "Yeah, it really is." Then she punched him in the arm. "Oww! What was that for?"

"For not telling me you saw her."

"Sorry… _God_ ," Leonard said, rubbing his shoulder. "You hit hard."

"I'm my daddy's son," she quipped.

"Where'd you see her anyway?" Leonard asked.

"At the doctor's office. She said she was there for a mammogram, of all things."

Leonard look confused. "Isn't she a little young for that?"

"That's what I thought," Penny concurred.

"Maybe she was lying and she's really pregnant," Leonard speculated.

"Well, I asked her the same thing, but she denied it." She handed Leonard his drink and took a seat beside him. "She was a little jumpy and secretive. I didn't press it."

"Huh," Leonard said with a cluck. "Amy Farrah Fowler. Wonder what she's been up to."

"Isn't she dating that guy… _Vladimir?_ "

"Virgil," Leonard corrected, taking a sip.

"Anyway, she was the _last_ person I thought I would see today. I told her to call me sometime." She looked at Leonard quizzically. "You've been eating a lot of cereal lately." She took the bowl out of his hands and took a bite. "Is this _soy_ milk?" she asked.

"Yeah?" Leonard answered sheepishly.

"I didn't know we had any," Penny said, taking a glance at the fridge.

"Um… We don't," Leonard stammered. "I swiped some from Sheldon. I guess he… likes it now."

"Well I'll be damned. After all these years. I might just have to run over there and steal a cup myself."

"I… I wouldn't recommend that," Leonard said. "You know how he is… locked up in his fortress of solitude."

"I know," Penny said, handing Leonard his bowl back. "Do you think that's normal?"

"We're talking about Sheldon," Leonard said.

"I know, I know." Suddenly the apartment rang out with the sound of "California Gurls," and she walked over to answer her cell phone. "But he used to get out and socialize _sometimes_. You know, the comic book store or Halo Night." When she looked at the caller ID, her face lit up. "It's Amy." She answered. "Hello? … Yeah, this is Penny; what's up?… I would _love_ to get together before you leave… Before Sunday? OK, pick a day… Actually tomorrow would be even better… I mean, I guess we _could_ take an astronomy tour at Mount Wilson Observatories," she rolled her eyes, " _or_ we could just have dinner here… You don't want to see Sheldon?"

"Sheldon's going to San Francisco for a meeting," Leonard said.

"But Sheldon will be in San Francisco tomorrow," Penny continued. "He has a meeting or something… Good… Six sharp… Yes, _sharp_ … Yes, I will be ready by then… Yes, _Amy_ , I will _actually_ be ready! _God_ ," she sighed. "Oh, what should you bring?" She looked at Leonard for ideas.

"She can't hold her liquor. Tell her to bring a dessert," Leonard said.

"Can you bring a dessert?… Great… See you then… Bye." She hung up, then plopped down next to Leonard.

"This is a good thing, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Penny said, taking a seat at the table. "It'll be fun to catch up. And what's the worst that could happen?" Then she panicked. "Oh no."

"What," Leonard asked.

"I don't know how to cook," Penny remembered.

"I've noticed," Leonard mumbled, taking another bite of cereal. Penny punched him in the arm. " _Christ_ , that hurt."

"Good," she said. "Maybe you'll stop being mean."

Leonard thought a moment. "How about we just order take-out Thai, like old times."

Penny smiled in full agreement.

"It's a new day, Amy—a fresh start," Cindy said, taking a seat at her computer. "We are going to go through the questionnaire together, _this time_ keeping in mind some of things we said about maintaining an open mind and being flexible in our selections. Right?"

Amy shrugged, despondent.

Cindy's heart broke a little.

"Don't be discouraged," she said. "Besides, we're always getting new donors. Maybe one will be just the guy you're looking for."

Amy nodded, feeling only a little better. Cindy typed a little.

"Okay," she began. "Preferred ancestry: Caucasian, Hispanic, Asian, African, Mid—" Question by question they went through the entire questionnaire until they had reached the bitter end. And a bitter end it was. The search produced exactly two results: a Hungarian brute of a man that Amy found "too continental" and an LA taxi driver who'd had over 20 sex partners. She dismissed them both.

Cindy sat a moment, staring at the computer. "Amy, going through your questionnaire again, you gave a number of answers that were conflicting or ambiguous. For example, to the question, "Number of sexual partners?' you answered 'Other.'"

"I was looking for someone with a low count."

"Why didn't you choose 'Less than five'?"

"Because I was looking for… zero."

Cindy was… surprised. "Zero?"

Amy nodded.

"May I ask why?" Cindy said.

"I just… would prefer… someone with the number… zero."

"Okay," Cindy said, moving on to her next inquiry. "And intelligence. Again, you chose 'Other.' Got a reason why?"

"I was looking for someone with a high IQ."

"Then you should have chosen 'high'," Cindy said.

"What is the threshold for high?" Amy asked.

"An IQ above 135," Cindy answered.

Amy scoffed. "I've gotten more impressive results out of my primate subjects," she muttered.

"Excuse me?" Cindy said.

"I was looking more in the ballpark of 187," Amy said.

"187?" Cindy gasped. Amy nodded in confirmation. "Amy?"

"Yes."

Cindy looked at her client for a long minute before speaking. "Amy, I know that you are very intelligent and accomplished woman, so don't take this the wrong way. But as counselors, we sometimes encounter women who seek our services, hoping that they can somehow find among our donors a substitute or proxy for the man that… got away. Now, I don't know you very well, but if that is going on here, you may want to come to terms with whatever happened in your past—"

Amy busted out laughing. "That is _absolutely_ not what is going on right now," she said. "I assure you."

Cindy nodded. "Okay. Well, you would know better than me." She stood and took a seat next to Amy. "But here's what we are going to do: we're done with our session for today, okay? So let's set up another appointment for two days from now. Start again, rested and new. You go home, take a long bath, watch some mindless TV, maybe have a glass of wine," —she nudged Amy with her elbow— "and I'll see you again in two days."

Amy sighed, then nodded. Cindy stood and extended her hand.

Amy reluctantly stood as well and shook Cindy's hand. "Okay," she finally said. "I'll… I'll see you then."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy goes over Leonard's and Penny's home to have dinner.

“That was delightful,” Amy said, placing her fork in the sink. “I haven’t had Thai food in quite some time.”

“No way,” Leonard said.  “I get the shakes if I don’t eat Pad Thai at least once a week.”

“He’s not kidding,” Penny concurred.

“Virgil was allergic to basil,” Amy explained.  “So Thai food was on his gastronomical ‘ban list’, if you will.”

Penny glanced at Leonard with some suspicion, then back at Amy.  “ _Was_ allergic to basil?  Why the past tense?”

Amy sunk a little.  “We… aren’t together anymore.”

Penny placed a hand on Amy’s.  “I’m sorry to hear that, sweetie.  How are you doing?”

“Well, fine really.  In the end, it really wasn’t fun anymore.”

Penny nodded.  “Is that why you can back to Pasadena?”

“I’m sorry,” Amy said.  “I don’t know what you mean?”

“You know,” Leonard explained.  “To reconnect… to your past.”

“To Sheldon,” Penny added.

Amy shook her head.  “No, no.  That’s not why I’m in Pasadena.  I’m here to take care of some pressing business.” She turned her head down, fidgeting with her hands.  “Trying to ‘reconnect’ with Sheldon was a mistake.”

Leonard and Penny looked at each other sadly.

“He misses you Amy,” Penny said.

Amy shook her head.  “All evidence points to the contrary.”

“Well you don’t have all the evidence,” Penny said.  Leonard cut her a stern look.  She ignored it.  “Sheldon kind of… _broke_ after you left.”

Amy looked up, curiosity written on her face.  “Broke?”

Leonard piped up.  “He didn’t really ‘break’ per se,” he said. “She’s exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating?  Really, Leonard?  So Sheldon didn’t have to go to Galveston for a month to detox, then?”

“Detox?”  Amy repeated, worried.  “Detox from what?”

“She’s skipping to the end,” Leonard said flustered.  He took a hard breath.  “Okay, fine—here’s what happened.  Sheldon went through a… rough patch after you left.  He took your absence hard and kind of… withdrew from everyone, even more than usual.  He started off missing a Chinese Food Night or two, then a few Halo Tuesdays, and soon Stewart started asking after him at the comic book store.  We knew something was wrong, but he just said he was working more, and it seemed like he was.  He started churning out papers like an HP printer.”

“I’m sorry,” Amy asked. “Where does the detox come in?”

Penny answered.  “Well, one day, Leonard noticed that there were more and more bottles of Vicks VapoRub turning up all over the apartment.”

“I know he has as a fondness for it,” Amy said.

“Yeah, well, it turned into an all out addiction,” Penny said.

“’Addiction’ is a strong word, Leonard said.

“Oh my God, Leonard,” Penny yelled in frustration.  She turned to Amy.  “Trust me.  It got to the point where he couldn’t get to sleep without it.”

“One day,” Leonard continued, “I found him in the bathtub soaking in a menthol bath, with the Vick’s in one hand, camphorated oil in the other and a humidifier spewing eucaluptified steam.  He was unconscious.”

Amy placed a hand over her mouth.

“We rushed him to the emergency room,” Penny explained. “Turns out he had eucalyptus poisoning.”

“Oh my God,” Amy gasped.

“His mother came and got him the next day,” Leonard explained.  “When he came back a month later, he was eucalyptus free.”

“But he wasn’t the same,” Penny said.  “He is _just now,_ kinda, sorta getting back to normal.”

Amy shook her head, truly horrified by the story. “And now I’ve come back just in time to heighten his anxiety all over again,” she said.  “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“That’s not true,” Leonard said.

“No it _is_ ,” Amy insisted. “I know enough about the pathology of addiction to know it’s a chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry.  The slightest trigger can send a ‘recovered’ addict spiraling into a relapse.”  She started gathering her things.  “I can’t… I have to go.”

Leonard and Penny stood up.

“He’s not here _now_ ,” Penny said.

“Yeah,” Leonard agreed. “Please, don’t leave so soon.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

 _ Knock, knock, knock. _   “ Penny and Leonard.”

The three of them froze with terror.

 _ Knock, knock, knock. _   “ Penny and Leonard.”

“I thought you said he was in San Francisco,” Amy said.

“He was; at least he said he was,” Leonard insisted.

 _ Knock, knock, knock. _   “ Penny and Leonard.”

“Don’t say _anything_ ,” Penny pleaded.

“I know you’re in there,” Sheldon called.  “The way the light is refracted through the peephole indicates that the living room’s overhead light is on.”

“He’s bluffing,” Leonard whispered.  “He has no clue.”

“Besides,” Sheldon continued.  “I tipped the delivery guy a pair of Penny’s thongs to tell me if you all were home or not.”

Penny raced to the door.  Amy, panicking, jumped behind a curtain.

“You bastard!” Penny yelled.  “Where the _hell_ do you get off violating my privacy?  Where did you even get my panties from?”

“The laundry room clearly states that tenants should not leave their laundry unattended.  Let this be a lesson to you.”

“LEONARD!” Penny yelled for backup.

“What do you want, Sheldon?” he asked, annoyed.

“May I have your internet password?  My router will be out of service until tomorrow.  I would pirate the Wi-Fi of my next-door neighbor Craig, but although he regularly—and rather shamelessly—engages in boisterous sex that can be heard throughout the building, he’s recently come to the conclusion that his _internet_ privacy is a priority.”

“GET OUT!” Penny yelled.

“Hold on,” Leonard said, wearily reaching for a pen and paper.

“No need to write it down,” Sheldon said.  “I have a—,” Leonard mouthed it with him, “eidetic memory.”

“Wait,” Penny shouted at Leonard. “You’re gonna actually _help_ him after what he did to me?”

“A Sheldon _with_ internet is a busy Sheldon.  A Sheldon _without_ internet is a nosy neighbor. Which do you prefer?”

Penny nodded. “X963F3”

“Thank you,” Sheldon said and turned to leave.  All of a sudden, there was the distinct sound of a loud…

“ACHOOO!”

“Who was that?” Sheldon asked.

“Um, what do you mean?” Leonard asked.

“ACHOOO!”

“There,” Sheldon said, his interest piqued.

“Oh, that is our… our _cat_ ,” Leonard lied. Penny rolled her eyes, disgusted.  Sheldon, however, was delighted.  

“How I _do_ love cats,” he squealed.  “What breed do you have, may I ask?”

“Calico,” Penny offered.  Leonard sighed.

“’Calico’, Penny, refers to the color pattern found on the feline’s coat, not the breed.”

“Of course it does,” Penny mumbled under her breath.

“ACHOOO!”

“Wait,” Sheldon said with furrowed brow.  “That is a _highly_ atypical sneeze for a cat.  Much louder and with a deeper sonic register, suggesting a sinus cavity much larger than that of your common domesticated species.”

“It’s a big cat,” Leonard explained.  “A mongrel really; a little bit of this, a little bit of that.  I wouldn’t be surprised if it were half dog.”  He laughed weakly.

“Perhaps I can take a look at it, and determine which breed carries the lion’s share of its genetic makeup.”  He chuckled to himself. “Get it?  The _lion’s_ share. Lions being a fellow—”

“We get it, Sheldon,” Penny said, annoyed.  “Now go.”

“Go to the cat, or go home?”

“GO HOME!” she yelled.

“Unpardonably rude,” Sheldon mumbled as he turned to leave.  He was almost out of the door when they heard the sound of someone blowing their nose.  Penny closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

“Hold on just a minute,” Sheldon said, slowly making his way towards the direction of the sound.

“Go home,” Leonard insisted. “I mean it, Sheldon.”

But Sheldon ignored his warning, only stopping when he reached the curtain.  “Why is your drapery wearing espadrilles?” he asked.

“Sheldon you really need to leave,” Leonard repeated.

Sheldon pulled back the curtain to reveal a red-nosed Amy Farrah Fowler.

“Your curtain must contain some rather potent allergens,” Amy remarked.

“But did you have to blow your nose?” Penny asked.  “ _Really?”_

“And, what happened to ‘don’t say _anything_ ’?”  Amy retorted.

“Well, well,” Sheldon said finally. “Once again I find myself in the throes of a feline fiasco at the hands of this young woman.”

Amy stepped from the behind the curtain, brushing the dust off of herself.  “I’m sorry to disappoint,” she said.  “Though you might have done well to heed the numerous admonitions to stay put.”

“One admonition that you were here would have been sufficient to keep me away for a thousand years,” Sheldon replied tersely.  Amy groaned.

“Does your hyperbole know no bounds?” she replied curtly.

“Well my patience certainly does.”

“I have the courage, Sheldon, to express myself without clouding my meaning in condescending rhetoric.”

“That’s big talk coming from someone who I just discovered hiding behind a curtain.”

“THAT’S IT!” Penny yelled, pointing.  “You, Sheldon, on the couch. You, Amy, on the love seat.  You aren’t leaving here until you all get this ridiculous bickering out in the open.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Leonard asked.

“Zip it,” she shot back.

After a moment of hesitation, the two sparring parties took their places as ordered.

And waited.

“It would be awesome if one of you said something.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Sheldon said.  “Her betrayal told me everything I need to know.”

“Betrayal?” Amy said.

“Yes, _betrayal_ ,” Sheldon maintained.  “If you recall, two years…,” – he mentally did some math – “four months, two weeks and four days ago, you said that you would be getting me the Ultimate Collector’s Millennium Falcon Lego Kit for my birthday. I am now two years older but remain Falcon-less.”

“Sheldon, by the time your birthday arrived, we weren’t even speaking,” Amy said.

“An unfortunate occurrence that should not have precluded you from fulfilling your promise.” 

“Sheldon?” Penny said.

“Yes, Penny?”

“So you’re saying that that this whole catastrophic falling out happened over some plastic toy bricks?”

“In so many words,” Sheldon answered.

Penny laughed to herself.  “You are so full of crap,” she said.

“How so?”

“ If you  _ honestly _ _ believe _ that we buy that, I have a little amusement park in  Anaheim I want to sell you.”

“Well it is, and I’m sorry you don’t believe me, but your credulity, or lack thereof, is of no importance to me.”

Penny moved towards Sheldon then stopped, looming over him and staring him dead in the eye.

Sheldon recoiled, completely baffled and bit disconcerted.

“Virgil,” she said simply.

He physically seized at the mention of the name.

“Now we’ve hit a nerve,” she said walking off.

“What you’ve _hit_ is a sad chapter in this city’s gastronomic history.”

“That’s so unfair, Sheldon,” Amy said, upset. “Your jealousy precluded you from being able to see him in anything but a negative light.”

Sheldon started, sitting up ramrod straight at the accusation.  “Me?  _Jealous?_   Preposterous.”

“Really?” Amy said. “Because you have a serious problem sharing the people you care about with anyone else.”

“Amy it’s as if you’ve never met me before.  I have _never_ embroiled myself in the petty quibbles of—“

“Sheldon, when Leonard started hanging out over Raj’s house, you nearly had a nervous breakdown.”

“I don’t remember that,” he said.

“I do,” Leonard muttered.

Amy continued.  “Do you remember the time your mother came out of town and went site-seeing with your friends instead of going to that lecture with you?”

“No,” Sheldon said.

“I’ve never seen anyone literally _will_ themselves into a cold just to have their mother’s attention.”

“You make me sound like some maladjusted, oedipal nutcase,” Sheldon blurted.

“I make you sound like someone who made me question if I’d ever known you at all,” Amy said.

“And there’s the rub, Amy,” Sheldon said.  “In your revisionist history of events you’ve constructed a narrative in which I was the aggressor and you and Virgil were the hapless victims.  But during the course of our ‘relationship’ you made a series of commitments to me that you all but abandoned as soon Virgil came on the scene.”

“Sheldon you were my friend; Virgil was my _boy_ friend.”

“A fact I was fully aware of, and yet one day I found myself listening to your voicemail for the thirty-sixth consecutive time after not having heard from you or even having caught a _glimpse_ of your shadow for weeks.”  Amy looked accused.  “I’ve had enemies that treated me better.”

Amy sat motionless, reluctant to respond.  She grew quiet.

“You know full well why we couldn’t keep being friends.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Really?  Because with an eidetic memory, I would imagine that you would remember what happened.”

“Virgil and I did not get along.  That had nothing to do with you and me.  If anything, my stellar memory only attests to the fact that my remembrance of events is accurate.”

“Then you should have little trouble recalling the appalling manner in which you treated him _and me_ on one of the most important days of his life.”

“Here we go,” Sheldon said.

“ _Here we go?_ ” Amy said, her voice rising.  “You would think that on the night that he was going to be appointed sous chef at one of the most prestigious restaurants in Pasadena, I could count on you for support and celebration.  That for _one evening_ you could set aside the contentious battling that had become yours and Virgil’s relationship and call a temporary truce—if not for him then for me. But instead, you did everything in your power to make sure that it was one of the traumatic moments of my life.”  

“He couldn’t take criticism,” Sheldon shrugged.

Amy was growing angry.  “Criticism?  You sent back your steak four times! You filed a complaint with the head chef!  You bad mouthed him _by name_ to the food critic attending the event!” Amy shook her head.  “I never understood why you hated him so much.”

“Why I hated him so much?” Sheldon blurted. One eye was twitching and he was virtually quaking with agitation.  “That two-bit,” air quotes, “’chef’ was a culinary imposter and disgrace to his profession.”

“I couldn’t disagree more,” Amy said.  

“Of course you couldn’t.  You were too blinded by his poorly formed gnocchi and incorrectly poached eggs to realize that you were aligning yourself with one of the great con artists of our times.”

“Sheldon,” she said yelling, “You made such a scene that instead of going to the after party I had to come and pick you up from a holding cell across town.  It’s that outrageous behavior that made our continued friendship an impossibility.”

“So I guess you blame me for his culinary ineptitude.”

Amy was screaming.  “I blame you for being an ASSHOLE!”  Everyone fell silent and Sheldon, for the first time, looked contrite.  “All I wanted was a little support, Sheldon.  For you to swallow your feelings and think about me for _once_.  But you were too haughty and selfish to do that, and you always were.”  Amy’s eyes were welling up, and he voice lowered to a whisper.  “If anyone was betrayed… it was _me_.”  She swatted at a tear on her chin, trying to regain her composure, then snatched up her belongings and left.

Sheldon looked at the slammed door with complete shock.  He turned back to Leonard and Penny who were equally rendered silent.

“ I’ll… be leaving,” he announced finally, and left, shutting the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the request of some readers, I will PM spoilers to those who ask for one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon can't sleep.

_Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard."

"Are you going to answer that?" Leonard asked.

"No," Penny said, and rolled over.

The knocking came faster the second time.

 _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Penny and Leonard."

"You know he can do that all night?" Leonard moaned.

"Well he's going to have to," Penny said. "I'm not getting up."

 _Knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,knock_ PennyandLeonard _knock,knock,kn—_

Leonard threw the sheets off of himself and marched to the door.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT SHELDON?" he yelled.

"I need to go the hospital," Sheldon said.

"And _why_ do you need to go to the hospital?" Leonard asked, exasperated beyond words.

"I can't sleep."

"Insomnia, Sheldon, is _not_ a medical emergency."

"It is for me," Sheldon said. "The inability to sleep is completely uncharacteristic for my physiology. I can always sleep. Every night, for the entirety of my adult life, I've retired at 11:00 PM and awoken at 7:00 AM. There's been no variation in that. Until tonight."

"Why don't you ask Raj to take you?" Leonard asked.

"Because I need someone who can communicate reliably in the chance of my sudden unconsciousness."

Leonard groaned. "If you went back to bed, Sheldon, you might be able to sleep."

"Leonard I'm serious," Sheldon said.

"That's the part that bothers me."

"Mock me if you will," Sheldon continued. "But if tomorrow morning you wake to find that Death has claimed me for its own, I sincerely hope these words don't haunt you until your dying day." He turned around and started back to his apartment.

"Wait, wait," Leonard called after him. "Come back." Sheldon did. "Are you having any other symptoms?"

"As a matter of fact," Sheldon said, alarmed, "I am."

"Of course you are," Leonard muttered.

"Sweaty palms, an upset stomach, dry mouth… oh, and recurring thoughts of my quarrel with Amy Farrah Fowler."

"Hold on," Leonard said, realization dawning on him. "You can't sleep because you're thinking about Amy?"

Sheldon looked gob smacked. "Wait… you think there may be a connection between my restlessness and my argument earlier today?"

Leonard sighed. "Sheldon, your conscience is bothering you."

Sheldon looked at him sideways. "Impossible."

"Actually it's more than possible, Sheldon. It's happening."

"Well… why would that prevent me from being able to sleep?"

"Because you did something wrong and now the Universe is hounding you until you fix it."

"Now Leonard," Sheldon began incredulously, "the Universe is not some cognizant being that can communicate with me on matters of moral significance."

"Fine, then; figure it out yourself," Leonard said and went to shut the door. Sheldon yelped, then grabbed the door, forcing it open.

"Wait, wait," he pleaded. "In the off chance that the Universe is trying to … _scold_ me for some transgression on my part, what can I do?"

"You have to go apologize to Amy."

Sheldon blinked absently. "Is there another possible remedy?"

Leonard paused a minute. "No," he said flatly, and went to shut the door.

"Wait, wait," Sheldon cried. "What do I say?"

"Tell her that you didn't mean what you said, that you screwed up and that you want her forgiveness."

"That verbiage is not quite in keeping with my typical syntax and phrasing, but I think I can say that."

"You have to _mean_ it, Sheldon. You have to say it in your own words and from the heart."

"And you sure there's no other remedy to my conscience-plagued sleeplessness? Perhaps a hot beverage?"

Leonard shook his head no.

Sheldon slumped. "Well I find the Universe to be an irrational bully, and won't bow to its demands."

"Bye, Sheldon," Leonard said, going to shut the door, then remembered something. "Hold on—why aren't you in San Francisco at that conference?"

"I had to cancel," Sheldon explained. "The Dean told me he wanted to meet with me tomorrow."

"Wow," Leonard said. "Good luck."

"None needed," Sheldon said and walked away.

* * *

Amy pulled up to the sperm bank sometime after noon. She was a day early, but hadn't come a moment too soon.

She was ready.

"Hello; is Cindy in?" she asked.

"Do you have an appointment?" replied the receptionist.

"No, but… I really need to speak with her."

The receptionist was hesitant. "Um, we really don't—"

"Please," Amy begged. "It really can't wait."

Sighing, the receptionist made a phone call. Moments later, Cindy appeared.

"Amy?" she said, surprised.

"I'm ready," Amy said. Cindy seemed to sense something resolute in her eyes.

"I'm on my lunch, but… come on back," she said.

As they made the walk to Cindy's office, Amy felt something fall away from her—tension, maybe, or anxiety. But she felt… light and calm and ready and kickass for the first time since she had started this whole process. There was a clarity she hadn't had before.

"Want to just jump in?" Amy asked.

"Sure," Cindy agreed, and placed her salad off to the side. "But, can I ask you something?"

Amy nodded.

"What… changed?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Last night, _all night_ , I thought about what you asked me on that first day: about my strengths and weaknesses and love. And, of late, I've learned that you can't give those questions to someone else to answer for you. You have to do it for yourself. Because when you do, you can finally let go of the things and people and memories that are holding you back. And everything opens up. And you understand what love is really about: not being too afraid or too proud to care for someone else… or yourself. And all of a sudden, this questionnaire… doesn't matter as much. I've decided to love whatever child I get."

Cindy smiled a little. "Fine, then. Let's get started."

* * *

The Not-So-Fabulous Four (minus one) were gathered around the lunch table when Sheldon entered the faculty cafeteria, sullen and dreary. He stumbled over to the lunch line to grab some grub.

"What's up with him?" Howard asked.

"Apparently he couldn't get to sleep last night," Leonard explained.

"Come on, Raj," Howard said mockingly. "Leonard didn't tell you? You have to put Sheldon down with his binky by 8:00 or he's up all night."

"Really?" Raj said, feigning surprise. "Is that with or without his Superman night light?"

Leonard laughed. "Can you believe he actually knocked on my door in the middle of the night and asked me to take him to the emergency room?"

"What did the doctors say?" Raj asked.

Leonard looked at him with disbelief. "I didn't take him."

"Just as well," Howard shrugged. "Chronic stupidity isn't usually considered to be a medical emergency."

Raj laughed. "Back at the apartment, he's been acting even weirder than normal. I actually saw him drink a glass of water from the _tap_." Howard and Leonard gasped. Raj just shrugged as he dressed his salad. "I think this whole Amy situation has him agitated."

"Hold on!" Howard said, shocked. "Amy? As in Amy Farrah Fowler?"

"Raj didn't tell you?" Leonard said. "She stopped by the other day. I can testify; I was there."

"Oh my God," Howard said, still reeling. " _Amy Farrah Fowler?_ What did she want?"

"I don't know," Raj said, "but whatever it was, she didn't get it. They got in a _huge_ fight."

"And the re-match was last night. He showed up while she was having lunch with me and Penny." Leonard whistled. "It did _not_ go well."

"Christ!" Howard exclaimed, and then—panicking—crossed himself. "Ah, what's the point," he said. "There's no way I'm getting out of Hell."

"Shhhh," Raj said. "He's coming."

Sheldon dropped his tray on the table then fell down into the empty seat.

"Gentlemen, it is a shame that this country does not recognize nighttime restlessness as the public health crisis it is."

"Well in my country," Raj explained, "when people can't sleep, they take a powder mixture of _brahmi_ , _vacha_ and _amalaki_ in order to cool off their _pitta_ , or internal fire." He paused. "Either that or they just drink a fifth of palm liquor. Both work surprisingly well."

"With all due respect to whatever sentimental value you may assign to those primitive remedies, Raj, I hardly think _voodoo_ is going to help me sleep any better."

"But stirring chloroform into some unspecified jar in your refrigerator might."

"You would never do that," Sheldon said, unperturbed.

"Why not?"

Howard answered. "Because chloroform only works on humans."

Sheldon was not amused. "I get it… I'm not human," he said, and laughed derisively.

"Go easy on him guys," Leonard said. "Everyone gets grumpy when they don't get their proper rest."

"Or when old girlfriends show up," Howard muttered.

Sheldon, stunned, sat up then stared at Leonard.

"I see you've wasted no time in perpetuating your Universe boogey-man theory for my insomnia."

"Actually I haven't," Leonard said.

"He doesn't have to," Howard said. "There's no way you could get in a fight with Amy and just go to sleep after that."

"Remind me to never tell you a secret again," Raj said.

"Come on, I was bound to find out eventually. Bernadette is going over Penny's tonight."

Leonard groaned. "Is it Girls' Night again already? They make me drink wine coolers and watch shows on the CW. I _hate_ Girls' Night."

"Not if you want to keep getting laid, you don't," Raj said.

"Yeah, just ask Sheldon," Howard quipped.

"You know what?" Sheldon said, standing. "I've come to the startling realization that I don't have any friends."

"Sit down," Leonard said. "They're just busting your chops."

"I'm sorry," Howard said. "I'll drop the topic." Sheldon kept standing. Howard's face grew concerned. "I'm serious, Sheldon, I was out of line… I'll let it go."

Sheldon reluctantly took a seat.

"See how an apology works? " Leonard whispered, leaning over towards Sheldon. "Now you _and Howard_ feel all better."

Sheldon answered by grumpily stabbing his tater tot with a fork.

* * *

Sheldon entered the Dean's office. "Hello," he said to the secretary. "I have a meeting with the Dean."

She made a phone call. "Dr. Cooper is here to see you," she said.

"Send him back," came the voice over the phone.

She walked Sheldon to his office.

"Come in Dr. Cooper; have a seat," the Dean said. "I'm glad you could meet with me."

"Did I have an option?" Sheldon asked, sitting down in a chair.

The Dean chuckled a little. "Well, I guess you didn't." He sat down. "Dr. Cooper, first I wanted to commend you on the excellent work you've been doing." He rifled though some papers on his desk. "You won an award this year from the American Association of Physics for your recent findings. You were on the cover of _Physics Today_ with an accompanying cover story article, and sat down for an interview with NPR." He took off his glasses. "Dr. Cooper, you are rapidly becoming the face of this department."

"Thank you sir," Sheldon said, smoothing down his multi-colored, polka-dot tie. Penny had, regrettably, been absent from his latest shopping excursion in pursuit of fine menswear. "Although frankly, I've long felt this distinction was overdue."

"Your confidence is certainly… well, reassuring if nothing else," the Dean chuckled. "However, despite your star rising so high and so fast, we have yet to see this translate into research dollars for the department. What do you think may account for that?"

Sheldon sat back some, indifferent. "I haven't the foggiest idea."

"Well," the Dean continued. "While you account for probably 90 percent of the press this department receives, you account for less than five percent of the department's incoming revenue."

"Theoretical physics requires a very small operating budget."

"And while that may be true, you and I both know that the university cannot run on nothing, particularly a research university. The funding procured by our faculty—whether that be in the form of charitable donations, awards or grants—are the bread and butter of our operation."

"I'm a student of science, not a peddler of science," Sheldon replied with mounting agitation. "I cannot solve the great conundrums of the universe while brown-nosing floozy heiresses and playing golf with politicians who don't know a neutrino from a slice of meatloaf."

There was a long moment of silence and the Dean looked and Sheldon with a silent reprimand.

"Am I free to go?" Sheldon asked.

"No," the Dean said, his voice growing graver. "Have you ever wondered why you aren't tenured?"

The short answer was yes. While the university gave away tenure to his colleagues like Halloween candy to trick-or-treaters, he had barely moved up in his position since he first came to Caltech. He didn't answer.

"While no one questions your scholarly acuity, your performance reviews are regularly riddled with questions about your loyalty and general participation in the department." He reached into his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. "But I believe I have found a compromise that would serve both of our interests."

"What might that be?" Sheldon asked, curious.

"I have it on good information that Random House Publishing Company recently approached the University President and expressed a desire for one of his faculty to write a book on popular science. The author would be granted a sabbatical to give him or her time to write the publication. Of course, he or she would share copyright with the University and then be required to go on a book tour to promote the book."

"What would be the… compensation to the writer?" Sheldon asked.

The Dean scribbled a figure on a piece of paper then slid it over to the physicist; his heart skipped a beat.

"That would be your book advance. Additionally, the University would be prepared to appoint you as a University Endowed Professor."

"That's the most prestigious position you offer your research faculty," Sheldon said, astounded.

"Indeed." The Dean softened some from his previously stern demeanor. "Sheldon, I'm not your enemy. I'm confident this is something you can accomplish; otherwise I wouldn't be coming to you. If you _are_ interested, I believe that I can persuade the President to make you the offer; he owes me a favor. I simply need your commitment to the project."

Sheldon thought a moment; he couldn't deny the offer was an enticing one. Yet… _popular_ science? It was the stuff of nightmares.

"And if I decline?" he asked.

"The decision is ultimately yours," the Dean said, "but your future here at Caltech may rest on what you choose to do. You _should_ make a decision… and soon."

Sheldon nodded solemnly.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" the Dean offered.

Sheldon looked at his watch. "Since it's after five," he grinned, "would you mind giving me a ride somewhere?"

* * *

Amy was out shopping for snacks when her phone rang.

"Amy?" she chirped, answering the phone. The prospect of an evening with Double-Stuffed Oreos and Pretzel M&Ms had brightened her mood considerably.

Besides, she had a chosen a donor.

"This is Cindy." Amy could hear her smiling through the phone.

"Hello Cindy!" she replied.

"Good news. The sample you requested earlier today is ready to be picked up. You can come get it right now if you'd like."

Amy's heart leapt. "I will," she said and hung up.

Walking to the check-out counter, she didn't know whether to scream, dance or faint.

She decided to call Leonard.

"Leonard, I'm in the CVS down the street from the hotel."

"Um… OK," he said. "And why should I know that?"

"Because I need you to do me a huge favor," she said.

"Sure, no problem." He seemed to be surprised at the request.

"First, however," Amy began, "I warn you that it involves a matter of intimacy and delicacy."

Leonard hesitated a moment. "Why don't you just ask Penny?" he said.

"Because it also involves a component of secrecy."

Leonard nodded with understanding. "Back to me," he said.

"I need you to give me a ride to the sperm bank on Central Ave."

"Whoa!" Leonard blurted. Once again, he had agreed to a favor before finding out what it was.

"Is that a yes?" she asked.

"Why don't you just drive yourself?" he asked.

"Because my car is in the shop getting an oil change and tune-up before I leave. Anyway, I won't get it back until tomorrow. And I'm _not_ taking that vial into a cab," she answered. Leonard sighed. "You're my only option."

"Fine, then. Um… when?" he asked.

"Right now," she said. This was not welcome news to Leonard.

"A little heads up would have been nice."

"Well, 'a little heads up' is exactly why we're going to the sperm bank."

"Point taken," he said. "I'm on my way."

By the time Amy and Leonard got there, it was a hair after five. Fortunately, the lights were still on.

"Hello, I'm… here," Amy said the receptionist. She'd never seen the woman before.

"And your name?" she said.

"Amy Farrah Fowler."

The receptionist typed for several moments. "And how may I help you?"

"I came to pick up my vial."

The receptionist glanced at the clock. She typed some more. "Um, I'm sorry, but that specimen is not available."

"Excuse me?" Amy said, gob smacked. "What exactly does that even mean?"

"That specimen has already been picked up," she said.

"No, it has not," Amy said, irritation mounting. "May I please speak to Cindy?"

"She's already gone home for the evening," she replied, and made another glance at the clock.

"Then anyone; let me talk to somebody other than you."

The receptionist sighed. "Me and a couple janitors are the only other people still here."

"I'm sorry, may I help you?" a well-dressed woman said, approaching the reception desk. "I'm Beverly."

"Yes, I was hoping to speak with Cindy."

"She is not here, at the moment, but she'll be back in the morning."

"She told me I could pick up my vial, but this young, and dare I say surly, woman said it's not available."

"Let me take a look," Beverly said. She typed over the receptionist's shoulder. "And you're Ms. Fowler?" she asked.

"Yes," Amy said through grit teeth.

"I remember Cindy mentioning you," she replied. Amy didn't know what to make of that comment. The woman stood back up. "I am afraid she's correct. That sample is coming up as no longer available."

Amy could feel her pressure rising. "I don't understand what that means."

The woman sighed. "It would be better if you met with Cindy, but… honestly, I don't think we have it anymore. There may have been some mix-up where it had to be destroyed. The most likely scenario is that it has, as our receptionist said, is that it has already been discharged. I don't really know. But you may want to schedule another consultation."

"I've already had enough consultations!" Amy yelled.

"Ma'am, this matter cannot be resolved today…" But Amy couldn't hear her. She was scrambling for a coherent thought. "Was it someone with more money?" she asked finally. "Someone who works here took my specimen?"

"Ma'am we cannot disclose the personal information of the patrons."

Amy as just so… _furious_ , or hurt, or… _something_ , she couldn't even talk, she couldn't even…. _breathe_.

"I see your disappointment, Ms. Fowler—"

"I'm a PhD," she interrupted briskly.

"Okay then, _Dr._ Fowler. But it's for these reasons that we ask that our recipients to be patient and allow more leeway in their donor selection criteria. If there anything we can do to—"

But Amy turned around and walked off mid-sentence. The woman called after her but she kept going, she didn't stop. By the time she reached the door, what had at first been a light rain had exploded into a full on, torrential thunderstorm, and Amy had left her umbrella back at the hotel. After a deep breath, and a passing swat at the tears pooling in her eyes, she walked out determinedly into the pouring rain and to the car, becoming more drenched with each step.

She collapsed into the passenger seat.

"You should have called," Leonard said, taken at how drenched she was. "I would have picked you up at the door."

"Take me home," she said.

"Wha— what happened?" he asked.

She shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. He didn't press the issue further.

Silently, as they rode along, she wondered what life was waiting for her after this. She tried to picture what tomorrow may look like, or the day after, but she kept coming up blank. There was so much uncertainly in her life, stopping the world and getting off seemed like the most attractive option. She was _so_ consumed, that she rode along, almost blindly, and was surprised to find that they were pulling up to the hotel.

There was a placard sign placed on the curb that said the indoor parking garage was completely full (there must have been some hotel event going on) and the line for valet parking was wrapped clear around the block, virtually blocking off the carport.

"Let me off anywhere," she told Leonard.

"Wait, Amy, I can—"

But she jumped out of the car, braving the deluge as she made a harried run for the building. In the elevator, she regretted not thanking Leonard and just managed to send him a text message to correct it. By the time she reached her floor, she was so wet and cold, she was shivering. She looked as miserable as she felt. Stepping off of the elevator, she rifled through her wallet for her key card. She looked up just as she approached her door, only to see a slender, white male sitting on the floor with his head between his knees.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon drops by on Amy unexpectedly.

"Sheldon?" Amy said. He was the last person she expected to see sitting in front of her door.

Sheldon looked up at the sound of his name and scrambled to his feet; he didn't say anything.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I need to speak with you," he said calmly.

After a moment, she wordlessly moved towards the door and, swiping the key, entered. She held the door open, and after faltering a moment, Sheldon followed her inside. Awkwardly, they stood just inside the door, waiting for the other to rally enough courage to say something.

"You're shivering," Sheldon said at last, stating the obvious.

"It's wet outside," she replied, doing the same.

"Perhaps you should dry off before…" _Before what?_ He stopped there and so Amy went into the bathroom. He could hear her using the blow dryer from outside the door. A full ten minutes passed before she reemerged and, when she did, Sheldon was leaning against the wall by the small desk next to her dresser drawers; at the sound of her exiting, he stood up straight.

Now dry and less frazzled, she regretted having let him in.

"If this is about the other night—" she began, but Sheldon interrupted, taking a step forward.

"I…" He took a deep breath. "I have been disturbed by the distressing note on which we ended."

 _Once again, this is about you_ , she thought. Amy didn't know how to respond; she was so spent. She shuffled past him, turning on the light, and then sat on the bed. She absently picked at a scab on her hand that wasn't even there anymore.

"How did you know I was staying here?" she asked.

"Leonard told me."

She mentally nodded. When she turned back up at Sheldon, she could see him clearly in the light for the first time, and there was something in his face that made her think back to the story Penny and Leonard had told her—about Sheldon and the menthol. Suddenly he looked fragile.

"Amy," he started again. "I know you may have come to think of me as generally poised, calm, and unflappable." He stopped as if awaiting confirmation of this fact.

"Go on," Amy said.

"But as I'm sure you well know, the world can be a cruel, perplexing and, often frighteningly _senseless_ place. As a result, there has been many a time in my life when I have found myself overwhelmed by the pressures put upon me and the adversities I've faced. In those times, I have often sought comfort from my mother to balm to my hurt in my darkest hours. But despite her unconditional love and home-spun wisdom, I learned early that, despite being a twin, I would ultimately walk alone in this world, a sole traveler and tribe of one… That is, until I met you."

Amy, who up until that moment had been listening with only casual interest, looked up with rapt attention.

"In addition to having what my mother would call 'book-learning', I found in you a constancy, warmth and skill in sound reasoning that awoke something in me that I hadn't experienced before. I'd grown accustomed to your presence in my life. So when you left to Los Angeles two years ago, I thought…," he swallowed hard, looking down at the umbrella in his hands. "I _felt_ …"

He stopped there, unable to continue. He seemed so unsettled, so unsure, and Amy found herself standing and going over to him.

"What did you feel Sheldon?" she asked, tenderly coaxing him.

He looked back up at her, intently, and he was whispering. "I missed you terribly."

Amy reached up and placed a hand on his arm. "I missed you too."

Sheldon continued solemnly. "Please forgive me, Amy."

She nodded, then turned her head down.

"I have to apologize too," she said. "As our relationship unraveled, I was so confused, defensive even, that I underestimated what I meant to you… what you meant to me." She looked back at him. "But I was wrong."

If they had been other people, people more like Penny or Leonard or Bernadette or Howard, they might have hugged in that moment, physically confirming their mutual affection for one another. But because she was Amy and he was Sheldon, they found another way to tenderly connect—in the only way they knew how. In the way they always had.

"Sheldon," she said. "There's something I would like you to see."

Amy walked over to the bed and lay down on her back, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment, Sheldon joined her on the bed, looking up as well.

"When this hotel was built in 1889," she began, "it was a small bungalow-style inn with 16 rooms. However, with time, it has been completely renovated no less than 16 times and expanded on an additional 9 times, making it the monstrous edifice it is today. As a result of these many remodels, the design and architecture became an incongruous hodgepodge of various styles, eras and management decisions that negligibly affected business, but drew criticism among hotel aficionados. In 1986, the citizens of Pasadena, and preservers of the old American Craftsman architecture style, insisted that this zoning district be forced to comply with its original period decoration style. With subsidies from the municipality and historical societies, each room was redone in period decorations and furnishings. As a result, visitors find it difficult to know which rooms contain original period furnishings and which are stocked with reproductions. However, look there."

She pointed to a small emblem on the side of the light fixture.

"What is that?" Sheldon asked.

"It's a brass M, the initial for the hotel's founder, put in each of the original rooms to signify that it a section for historical preserve."

"So we're sitting in one of the original rooms," Sheldon marveled.

Amy nodded. "But there's more. A quick Google search let me in on another tantalizing piece of gossip."

Sheldon turned to Amy. "My disinterest in hearsay has remained unchanged in the past two years."

"Nevertheless, I think you might find this fascinating. Local legend has it that a gentleman by the name of John H. Burnett stayed in this very hotel room when he visited Pasadena in 1892. He was so taken with the city, that when he returned to his native state, he plotted a town, with similarly lush vegetation, along two bayous and named it Pasadena, after the California city. Guess where Mr. Burnett was from?"

Sheldon shrugged.

"Sheldon," she answered. "He was from Galveston, Texas."

After a moment of silence, she turned to Sheldon and found him staring at her with a steady fascination, breathless and still as if he were seeing her for the very first time.

"Amy?" he said.

"Yes, Sheldon," she answered.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he said.

Amy just smiled and, leaning over, placed her head against his shoulder. She was surprised when he leaned his head against hers in turn. They lay that way, silently mending ways and repairing damaged bonds, for several minutes. Sheldon finally spoke.

"Amy," he said.

"Yes, Sheldon," she answered.

"Can you drive me home?"

His question was punctuated with a flash of lightening and subsequent room rattling clap of thunder.

"It is literally thundering and lightening outside," Amy replied.

"As I am well aware," Sheldon concurred. "Even more reason to get home."

"I'm not driving you home, Sheldon," she said matter-of-factly. "You can take a cab."

"And sit in the unmitigated filth of a seedy means of public transport?" Sheldon scoffed. "I'd rather walk."

"Fine, then," she said. "You can walk." There was silence. " _Or_ you can spend the night."

Sheldon turned to her, and then back at the ceiling.

"OK."

* * *

When Amy awoke the following morning, she recalled the events of the previous night in sepia, as if they were a memory she had absorbed from a movie instead of actually experienced. But after making her way to the bathroom, as was her custom, she had stumbled upon Sheldon, sleeping peacefully in the bathtub under a downy comforter, confirming that her memories were real.

Now, they were pulling up in front of Sheldon's apartment building. The ride back over had been a silent one. There was so much to say, and yet really, the most important things had already been said. For all the ground they had covered, there was still a distance between them. Silence had felt right.

Sheldon turned to his driver, "This would be my stop," he said.

"Indeed it would be," Amy replied. He collected his ever-present messenger bag from around his feet, placing it on his lap.

"Good…bye, Amy," he said. The words fell on her ears, heavy and final; as it was, they may never see each other again. Somehow, this brief reunion had felt more like an ending—the epilogue of a cherished book, the final episode of an epic series.

"Goodbye, Sheldon," she said.

His hand was on the door, poised to open it when Amy called his name.

"Sheldon?' she said. He turned to her. "I want you to know that Virgil and I aren't together anymore."

She didn't know why she'd told him that, but it felt like information he should know. Sheldon didn't say anything, and his face was marked with such a complex expression that Amy didn't know what to make of it.

"Amy," he began. "I would like to you see again."

"That… that would be nice," she agreed.

He nodded, and without another word, he opened the door and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up all that stuff about the hotel, but the stuff about John H. Burnett? Totally true. Cool huh? Also, para que ustedes sepan, yo hablo español también. Pues, los que desean pueden dejar un comentario en ese idioma. ¡Que se cuiden y gracias por leer!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon consults his counselors.

Leonard was running late after oversleeping, and so crashed through Sheldon's front door, coffee in hand, to take him to work—convinced that he would be met with a scowling lecture on tardiness.

Sheldon wasn't there. "Sheldon!" he called. There was no answer. " _Sheldon?"_

"Yes," Sheldon answered, wearily entering through the open front door.

"You ready to go?" Leonard asked.

"I won't be going into work today," he said, shuffling to the kitchen. "I've already notified the department chair. Or his secretary, anyway." He opened the refrigerator door and poured himself a glass of milk.

"Why aren't you going in?" Leonard asked.

"I'm just getting home; I won't be ready in time." He took a sip of the milk then immediately spit it into the sink. He stared at the glass with bewilderment.

"My soy milk," Leonard reminded him. Sheldon nodded wearily. "Where have you been?" Leonard asked, taking sip from his coffee.

"I slept with Amy last night," Sheldon answered coolly. Leonard sprayed the apartment with coffee.

"WHAT?" he exclaimed. "When? What? _How?_ "

Sheldon pulled out the proper milk. "I went by to apologize like you—or should I say _the Universe_ —said I should."

"And you ended up sleeping together?"

Sheldon peered at him through squinted eyes.

"If you believe I am referring to coitus I'm afraid you are mistaken."

Leonard nodded, trying to regain his composure. "I knew that."

Sheldon took a long swig of the milk. "As much I hate to admit it, Leonard," he said finally, "you were right."

"Really?" Leonard said with surprise.

"Yes," Sheldon said, plopping down into his spot. "During the interim of our conflict, I had forgotten how… _delightful_ her company really is."

"Wow," Leonard said. "That's… that's really good to hear. I'm glad you patched things up."

"As am I," he concurred. He looked at Leonard's harried demeanor. "You're late."

"I know," Leonard said. "But why do you even care? You're not going in."

"A fact that you were not aware of and thus had no bearing your tardiness," Sheldon said.

Leonard shook his head. "Have a nice day," he said, and left.

* * *

Penny was in her trailer—on break from filming a recurring role on the soap opera _Children of a Wild Heart_. She was reading the script for the hundredth time and praying to _God_ that she could just dump the lines into her head. She suddenly had a call.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Yes, there is someone at the gate here to see you. Says his name is Leonard Hofstadter."

"Yeah, send him back," she said. Interesting; Leonard hadn't mentioned he would be visiting her, but a midday visit could always lead to a— _ahem_ —roll in the hay. She checked the time; she had an hour before she had to be back on the set. Ever prepared, she threw on a negligee and threw a robe over top of it. A second later, there was a knock on the door.

"Leonard," she purred as she opened the door.

It was Sheldon.

"God SHELDON!" she yelped, hurriedly closing her robe and tying her sash shut. "I thought it was Leonard."

"That's because I told them I was Leonard Hofstadter," he said calmly.

"And they just let you in?" she asked. "Didn't they ask for ID?"

At that, Sheldon produced a laminated work badge from the university. It said in big letters "Leonard Hofstadter" but had a picture of Sheldon's face on it.

"Sheldon, don't you realize this is identity theft?" she said.

"Oh, give me a break, Penny," he said. "I would never use it for any nefarious purposes. It's only that, Leonard has a higher clearance than I do in the lab. Something about me being 'emotionally unstable.'"

Penny stared at him in weary disbelief.

"Penny," Sheldon explained sheepishly. "I'm here because I need your advice on something."

She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… come in."

He climbed the stairs and took a seat on the futon. She sat down next to him.

"Penny, among my most intimate acquaintances, you alone excel in so-called 'soft-skills'." He paused with furrowed brow. "But on second thought, so does my mother." He rose. "I'll ask her, Penny. Sorry for the bother."

"Wait, wait," she cried. "Now I'm all curious. Don't leave." He hesitated. "Look, you can still ask your mother after you get my advice. A second opinion is never a bad idea, right?"

Sheldon agreed with this. "Fine, then." He took a seat. "As I was saying Penny, you are one of my few friends who possess soft skills."

"Soft skills?" Penny asked. "What do you mean by 'soft skills'?"

You know," Sheldon began. "Skills that aren't readily quantifiable, but that are invaluable in certain situations; skills like fashion-sense, conflict resolution, knowing whether or not I should go on a book tour, which cocktail goes with—"

"Hold, hold, hold," Penny interrupted him. "What is this about you going on a book tour?"

"Well, I spoke to the Dean of my school yesterday, and he said that he has on good information that I am being considered to author a book on 'popular science'—a tome to dumb down the great enigmas of advanced human knowledge for the anecdotal enjoyment of the unknowing masses—all to make a fast buck and get a cushy title behind my name."

"When you say 'fast buck', what are we talking here?" Penny asked.

Sheldon wrote the sum down on a nearby receipt and handed it to her. " _That_ would be my book advance."

Penny started coughing. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what the question is," she sputtered.

"The question is whether I should capitalize on this opportunity to pimp out my craft like a common whore, or remain true to the higher principals of academia and reject all notions of sullying my work with the decadence of consumerism."

Penny took a deep breath. "I think I have an answer for you, Sheldon, but you have _got_ to hear me out. You can't interrupt."

Sheldon nodded. "My lips are sealed and my ears are open," he said.

"Good. Now, you, as everyone knows, are fortunate in that you have the God-given ability to—"

Sheldon started visibly trembling. Penny got distracted.

"What's going on with you?" she said.

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

"Seriously, Sheldon, what's going on?" she asked.

He made the gesture of zipping his mouth.

"I can't explain myself with you acting all crazy," she said. He bit his bottom lip. She sighed. "Fine, you can talk."

"God-given, Penny? Really?" he said. "I mean, it has been all but conclusively proven that intellect is largely a genetic phenomenon, not some miraculous gift meted out by a supreme being."

"Oh my God, Sheldon," she cried. "Fine. You have a 'genetic-given' ability. The point is you have the talent of being amazed and passionate about things that bore the crap out of just about everybody else." Sheldon scrunched up his face. " _Buuut_ , every now and then, that boring stuff turns into something fun, like…" she reached for an example.

"Big bang simulators?" Sheldon offered.

"I was going to say Botox. Anyway, when that happens, people pay money to have it. So, just write your book, make it fun, and then you can be Nerdy McNerd all the way to the bank."

Sheldon perked up. "Penny, you've really given me something to think about."

"Good," Penny said cheerfully. "Now, all you have to do is ask your mom about the whole situation and see what she says."

* * *

"Take the money and run!" Mrs. Cooper said on the other line.

"But, Mom," Sheldon countered, "I'm not some hot dog vendor peddling his wares on exhausted pedestrians. To extend the metaphor, I'm a world class chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant presenting my cuisine to an esoteric group of diners with deep pockets and refined palates."

"Sheldon," Mrs. Cooper said.

"Yes."

"Sometimes you're so smart I think you get back dumb."

"Oh, mother," he sighed.

"Look, Shelly," she said. "Money is what makes the world go 'round."

"Actually what makes the world go around is the velocity of the Earth against the gravitational pull of the—"

"Shelly?" Mrs. Cooper interrupted.

"Yes?" he said.

"Shut up, dear."

Sheldon complied.

"Now, Shelly, you should know that you _never_ look a gift horse in the mouth. This is a win/win situation. You gotta _have_ money to _make_ money."

"I feel like you're just stringing idioms together to confuse me more."

Mrs. Cooper sighed. "I'm gonna make this real simple: one day you may wanna do something big with your life, like buy a house, have a wife and kids, or maybe buy your mother a car…"

Sheldon didn't say anything.

"Anyway, you're gonna need that money, and it would be a shame if you looked back and saw this as a missed opportunity."

"I guess there's some truth in that," Sheldon conceded.

"Of course there is, son," Mrs. Cooper said. "Now, in the off-chance you _do_ decide to write this book, have you thought about who you might… _dedicate_ it to?"

"You, of course," Sheldon said immediately.

"That's a good Shelly," she purred.

He paused a moment. "Although it _has_ crossed my mind to include a secondary, _parenthetical_ dedication to Robert Oppenheimer, who was a forebear—"

"One's enough, Shelly," Mrs. Cooper said. "One's enough."

* * *

Amy was lying on the bed idle for the first time that week. She was tired, but not so tired that she couldn't be kept awake by all the worries that were consuming her. It was Friday and she would be leaving on Monday morning, and there was no telling if she would accomplish the purpose of her visit to Pasadena.

Amy's phone rang; she blindly reached over to her nightstand and answered without even checking the caller ID. It could only be three people: her mother (likely), Virgil (unlikely), or Sheldon (she could hope).

Turns out… it was the sperm bank.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy informs Sheldon that he has quite a bit in common with pinot grigio.

The only thing more thrilling than hearing from the sperm bank was hearing good news from the sperm bank.

"You're… kidding me?" Amy said.

"No, not at all," Cindy said. "There was a mix-up in the lab. Apparently we have two Amy Fowlers, but the other spells her name A-M-I-E – thus the mix up yesterday when you stopped by."

"I'm… I'm ecstatic," Amy said, smiling through her words.

"I'm so sorry for the confusion, Amy," Cindy said again. "You can come in at any time before we close today to pick up your vial."

"I will, I will," Amy said. "I will be there in 20 minutes."

She hung up and grabbed her purse, racing for the door. When she opened it, Sheldon was standing there.

"Sheldon," she said. "Did you knock?"

"No," Sheldon said. "I didn't have the opportunity." They stood a moment. "Is this a bad time?"

"Um… no, not at all. " Amy backed away from the door. "Come in," she said. Sheldon walked in, somewhat aimlessly. "You can have a seat in the chair," Amy offered.

He took it, hopelessly fitful and unsure.

"How did you get here?" she inquired. "If you don't mind my asking."

He pulled from his messenger bag a small plastic mat. "This has become my recent travelling companion, making public transportation an equally harrowing, but less _infectious_ , experience."

Amy nodded. "Ingenious."

"I thought so," he agreed. He folded it, returning it to his bag. "You are no doubt curious as to the reason of my visit." She hadn't been, actually. "I was, ahem, in the area and though I'd stop by," Sheldon explained, as if he's rehearsed the line.

"You were?" Amy said. "What brought you downtown? You… you didn't work today?"

He shook his head. "I was, um, doing some banking."

"Ah," Amy said. "Are there no branches closer to where you live?"

Sheldon started with the realization that his story required more information than he had prepared. "Oh, who am I kidding?" he relented. "I set out with the express purpose of seeing you."

Amy smiled. "Well that was kind of you," she said. "May I offer you a beverage?"

"What do you have?" he asked. She walked over to the table. "Coffee and tea. The exact kinds of bean and/or leaf are unspecified."

Sheldon thought a minute. "How about we order room service?" he said. Amy glanced at her watch; it was 2:36 in the afternoon. "Funny, I don't recall ever ordering room service before 10:00 in the evening," she remarked.

Sheldon sat back scandalized. "I would never consider dining so late," he said. "Besides, there is a first time for everything." He picked up the room service menu off of the table. Amy sat on the floor next to him, and they perused it together.

"Mocha frappuccino," she cooed.

"Drinks aside, look at the chicken florentine," Sheldon marveled. Amy grew silent. "That's what I'll have," he announced. "Chicken florentine with a Diet Coke."

"Please, Sheldon, just once," Amy begged, "order a big people's drink."

"Are you referring to… spirits?" he asked.

"Indeed I am," she said. Sheldon hedged a minute.

"I don't know Amy," he said.

"You may be interested to learn that pinot grigio is a medium-bodied wine and an ideal accompaniment to chicken. Even more fascinating, it is a wine that has quite a bit in common with you."

"How so?" Sheldon answered, intrigued.

"It is, essentially, a fraternal twin. The grapes that are used to produce pinot grigio are a cultivar of the grape species _Vitis vinifera_ and the leaves and vines are so similar to the cultivar pinot noir that the color difference is the only way you can tell them apart. The color was, apparently, derived from a genetic mutation centuries ago.

Sheldon couldn't hide his fascination, but it was tempered with some annoyance. "And I guess you learned that from Virgil," he remarked.

"Actually, from Wikipedia," Amy said.

"An equally dubious source," Sheldon muttered.

"Either way, what do you say to trying some?"

Sheldon ceded. "I might be persuaded to have a glass… or half of one."

Giddy, Amy bounced up, grabbed the menu and marched over to the phone.

"Yes, we would like an order of the chicken florentine with a bottle of pinot grigio."

Sheldon sighed.

"Oh, oh, oh," Amy added. "And a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Rather, make that two." She hung up.

"Honestly, Amy?" Sheldon moaned. "What a disappointing selection. That option isn't even on the _children's_ menu."

"I haven't eaten normal food in a _very_ long time," she said. "I am not ashamed to say that I cannot wait."

* * *

Penny was making her specialty—box macaroni and cheese—when there was a knock on the door. As the knocks weren't coming three at a time, nor followed by her name, so she could rule out Sheldon.

"Who is it?" she called. There was no answer. The person knocked again. "Who is it?" she asked again, but nothing. There was yet another knock. "So annoying," she sighed and marched to the door to answer it.

It was Raj.

"Hey Raj," she chirped. He waved and then handed her a cordless phone. Bewildered, Penny held it to her ear; she heard a dial tone. "What do you want me to do with this?" she asked. He took the phone back, scrolled through the caller ID, and then handed it back to her. When she held it to her ear again, it was ringing.

"Hello?" came a female voice on the other end. "Is this Shelly?"

"Mrs. Cooper," Penny squealed. Raj gave her the thumbs up and walked away.

"Yes, this is Mrs. Cooper. This isn't Shelly?"

"No, it's Penny," she explained. "Raj brought the phone over to me?"

"Well that would explain why someone was picking up but not saying anything," she said. "Seriously, if y'all loved that boy, y'all'd get him some help."

"What's up Mrs. Cooper?" Penny asked.

"Well, I was going to call Shelly to see if he was going to be out of town for his birthday, but since I have you on the phone, I can just ask you."

"Why don't you just call him on his cell?"

"I've tried but he's not answering."

"That's weird," Penny said. "Well, if he is going out of town, he hasn't said anything to us about it. I know he's not really into his birthday much." Which made the whole Lego story with Amy even more ludicrous.

"Okay, well thank you sweetheart," she said. "And, um, be a doll and don't mention that I called about this, okay?"

"No problem," she said. She held the phone in her hand, looking at it for another moment. She shrugged. "She won't mind if I tell Leonard," Penny said, and dialed his number.

* * *

Sheldon and Amy were sitting on the floor in front of the bed, giggling uproariously, with the trappings of room service scattered all around them. The two of them were, in a word, drunk.

"In the end," Sheldon said in conclusion to his story. "It was neither here nor there, because the animal was in fact not a beaver at all, but actually an uncharacteristically large _muskrat_. The entire freshman Math Club ran screaming from the aquatic beast, leaving the upperclassman, and my 13-year-old self, thoroughly amused."

Amy was laughing so hard that tears are pressed from her eyes. "I must say, Sheldon—what MIT lacks in a social scene it certainly makes up for in tomfoolery."

Sheldon nodded in agreement, then lifted his plate off the floor and licked the last bit of white sauce from it.

"Jack Spratt could eat no fat," Amy recited. Sheldon followed.

"His wife could eat no lean."

They said the rest together. "And so betwixt them both, you see, they licked the platter clean." They both collapsed into laughter.

Sheldon suddenly sat up, alarmed. "Amy, that children's verse was not fitting at all. You were very opposed to sampling some of the chicken florentine, inexplicably so."

She groaned dramatically and with effected annoyance. "Because it reminds me of _Virgil_ ; he made it _all the time_."

Sheldon shook his head. "I can only imagine how his version might turn one off from the dish entirely," he remarked.

Amy looked at him with a sly smile, and then finished off wine. "Be nice."

"As I always am," he replied. He used the opportunity to polish off his glass as well. He then turned to her, his brow furrowed. "When are you leaving again?"

"Monday." Her eyes were drooping; she was getting sleepy.

"Drats. You should stay longer," he pouted. "We could go to Disneyland on Monday and not have to wait in line for the rides."

"As tempting as that sounds," she answered. "I start a new job on the following week and I have to get prepared."

"New job?" Sheldon gasped. "But what about UCLA?" he asked, quickly becoming a box of questions. "That's a very long commute."

Amy shook her head. "I'm moving there, Sheldon. To a town outside of Olympia." She waited for him to mock her decision, maybe make a snide remark.

"Virgil will be sad," he said quietly after a while.

"I think he'll be alright," Amy replied, and lied her head back against the bed.

"Why?" Sheldon asked. "Is he coming too?"

She turned to him and patted him on the face, gently. "Dearest Sheldon," she said. "How do you stay so innocent in this heathen town?"

His eyes grew somber as he looked at her. "I will be sad," he said.

It was a drunken confession, she knew, but her mother had always told her that the words of a drunk man were the thoughts of a sober one; his words did something to her. She may never get this chance again. She couldn't let the moment go.

"Do you care for me?" she asked him.

He turned to her with one eye squinting, then nodded. "Yep."

 _OK._

"Do you want to be… _with_ me?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, still nodding like he had to locate his brain every time he had to speak. "Come to Caltech," he said.

"No, like, do you want me to be your _girl_ friend?"

He shook his head. "Nah," he answered, a bit slurred. "No room up there for neutrinos _and_ girls."

She nodded. "I suspected as much."

Now he had a question. "Where are you moving to again?"

"Washington," she answered, for the fifth time. She laid her head back against the bed again and closed her eyes.

"There's no Disneyland in Washington," he reasoned. "Or Legoland."

"I know," she said. "But… I'm safer there."

"What does that mean?" Sheldon asked, confused.

"It means that there… no one will hurt me," she said. The answer, surprisingly enough, seemed to satisfy him. He suddenly belched, placing his hand on his stomach.

"My tummy hurts," he moaned. He laid his head on her shoulder. She smiled with a memory.

"Soft kitty… warm kitty… little ball of fur."

Whispering, he joined in with her on the second stanza. "Happy kitty, sleepy kitty. Purr, purr, purr." He sat back up, drunkenly hovering too close to her face.

"You remember that, Amy?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she said with a sad smile. "I could never forget about you Sheldon. I remember everything."

And then, in the next moment… they were kissing. Easy and light and free, like they were born to breathe each other's breath. Like there was no more whole world beyond that room. Like they had never been apart.

They pulled away—though only just a hair's breadth between them—and sat staring, perfectly still with wonder, except for their pulsing heartbeats.

She placed a finger on his lips that were just inches away. "Sheldon," she whispered.

He shook his head faintly. "I don't know what came over me," he said.

"It's okay," she said, smiling. It gave him permission to smile too.

She nestled her head in his neck, and they stayed that way for a while. Several moments went by before Sheldon finally said anything.

"Does this hotel room have cable?"

"I believe it does."

"Do you want to watch Dr. Who reruns with me?"

The question took Amy out of the moment; she sat up suddenly, "What time is it?"

Sheldon looked at his watch. "5:58."

She scrambled to her feet, leaning against the bed. "Oh, my God," she groaned, her head spinning.

Sheldon looked up, confused. "What?"

"I'm so late."

She looked around for her purse and, finding it, rummaged around before emerging with her keys. "I have to go," she said, heading for the door.

"Are you in any shape to be operating a motor vehicle?" he asked.

"Would _you_ like to take me?" she asked.

"You know I don't drive," he replied morosely. She walked over to him, and reached for his hand. He took hers.

"Pull the door shut on the way out," she said, and left.

After a blistering 12 minutes on the highway, Amy pulled in front of the sperm bank, only to see signs of what she already knew to be true.

It was closed. Until Monday.

Unwilling to accept the reality of her fate, she walked to the door, pulling on it several times; it didn't budge. Perhaps it was because the day was unseasonably hot, or because of the booze, or… maybe her disappointment overtook her, but she leaned with her back against the door and slid down to her knees, burying her head in her hands.

Where had the time gone? How could she have _forgotten_?

Why had Sheldon distracted her?

He seemed as good a scapegoat as any, and so—rallying some—she walked back to her car and just sat there, the guest of honor at a pity party for one. The soundtrack of the event consisted of four songs: "Everybody Hurts" (a pity party staple); "Don't Speak" (because people were so mean, you know?); I Dreamed a Dream" (the Susan Boyle version, duh) and "Last Friday Night" (because Katy Perry was, well, just sooo _pretty_ ).

Time went by and Amy's brain got more sober. After listening to her pathetic playlist all the way through (several times), she decided to make the drive back to the hotel. She started the ignition.

All of a sudden, Cindy walked out of the door.

Amy jumped out of the car. "Cindy," she called. Cindy looked up.

"Amy?" she said. "Where were you?"

"I… something came up. I'm… I'm so sorry."

Cindy didn't say anything.

"I know this is bordering on… abuse of this facility but … is there any way I can still…"

"Follow me," Cindy said. Amy did.

Cindy explained that she had a lot of work to catch up on and so had stayed back late. She gave Amy some papers to sign, checked her sample out of the lab, and collected her deposit on the cryogenic container. After several minutes of beauracracy…

Amy was holding her sperm donation.

The two women walked back out to the parking lot together. Cindy had some parting words.

"I don't know if I will see you again, Amy. But I do know one thing. You are a wonderful person and a _very_ smart woman. I wish you the best no matter what happens."

Amy nodded. "I thank you… for _everything_ Cindy."

Cindy smiled and walked to her car.

Amy watched as her as she drove away.

When Amy got back to her hotel room, she threw her purse into the chair, pulled off her shoes and fumbled for the light. She was surprised to find Sheldon still there—face down on the bed and sound asleep. Well, waking up.

"Amy," he said, wincing against the light.

"Don't move," she said. She turned the light back off and, after putting the container in the mini-fridge, groped her way to the bed. She carefully lifted one of his arms, climbed into bed under it, and let it fall back down.

Though in bed, she was far from sleepy and lay there, staring into the dark. Her restlessness was apparently contagious.

"Amy?"

His voice was slurred, as if his mouth was buried in the pillow, and he still sounded half-asleep.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Did you make it in time?"

She sighed. "No… and yes."

Beat.

"Where did you go?"

"To… get a package."

She hoped that slumber would overtake her bedmate, and his line of questioning. As seconds ticked by, she almost thought it had, when…

"Amy?"

"Yes?" she answered, cringing.

"Do you still love Virgil?"

It was a question that seemed to come from nowhere and that she had been afraid to ask even herself. But in that moment, with Los Angeles so far away, and the memory of Virgil even farther, the inquiry lost its sting.

"I don't think so," she answered. She awaited Sheldon's explanation for asking the question, but none came. "Why?"

"I wondered," he began, then paused, seeming to collect his thoughts, "I wondered if you can ever stop loving someone."

Much like the scientific quandaries that filled their days, matters of love and loss were puzzles that even wiser men had left for the ages.

"I don't know," she sighed. "What do you think?" But he didn't answer, and the slowed rhythm of his breathing suggested he was enjoying the sleep that eluded her. She drew closer to him—could feel the heat coming from his person—and closed her eyes. Eventually, she joined him in quiet slumber.

They stayed that way until morning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon takes issue with the International House of Pancakes.

"Thank you Amy, for allowing me to change clothes," he said as they rode along. She had taken him back to his apartment for a shower and shave, and they were now on the road once more. "I feel like a brand new man."

"Good," Amy said.

"A brand new man, that is, with a throbbing headache," he clarified, clutching his forehead. "And I assure you it was not my intention to spend the night."

"No harm, no foul," Amy replied. "Next order of business is breakfast."

"Indeed," he agreed. "I'm famished."

A moment later they were parking.

"Amy?" Sheldon asked.

"Yes," she said unbuckling her seat belt.

"Why are we at the International House of Pancakes?"

"Because they serve breakfast here," she answered.

"Using that reasoning, they also serve breakfast at the men's shelter down the road, but that is certainly no excuse for us to dine there."

"You may find the restaurant more compelling to learn that there's a train poster hanging on one of the walls," Amy said.

"Well, I do not," he said.

"Suit yourself. I'm hungry, and I plan to eat here. You may join me if you like," she said, and alighted form the car. Sheldon, reluctantly, got out as well and approached the building with wary trepidation.

"Table for two," Amy said, and followed the hostess to a table. Sheldon took each step as if he were winding through a graveyard.

"With all due respect," Amy said. "Your aversion to this place is patently irrational."

"Irrational?" Sheldon said. "I'll tell you what's irrational. The utter complacency of an American public that would continue to patronize an establishment that all but forewarns you of its untrustworthiness in the title. For starters, it is neither a house, nor international."

"They serve crepes," Amy said, taking a seat. Sheldon sat as well. "Crepes are French."

"Well in that case, McDonald's serves french fries. Perhaps they should rename themselves the International Winnebago of Red Meat."

"I hate to interrupt," the hostess said, "but, may I get you some drinks?"

Sheldon answered her question with a question. "What is the temperature at which you sanitize your drinkware and cutlery?"

"I'm… sorry?" the hostess said.

"I ask because those items are inserted directly into the mouth." The hostess's befuddlement only intensified. "You see, I eat at a select few dining establishments, and rarely spontaneously, as I am wary of risking my health and well-being by eating at a place of dubious repute."

"You'll have to excuse my friend," Amy said. "He is, in a word, cuckoo."

"I can see that," she said.

"I'll have a cranberry juice with no ice," Amy said.

The hostess nodded. "And your little friend?"

"I'll have a tall glass of filtered water—as in, _not_ from the tap—with a light spritz of tonic water and a _sliver_ of lime wedge resting on the _lip_ of the glass," he said. "Need I mention that it should be tepid—not chilled and _certainly_ not warm—but a pleasing tepid, generally agreed to be in the vicinity of room temperature."

"Water with lemon coming right up," she said and walked off.

Sheldon wilted, frustrated. "I would _just once_ like to encounter someone in the hospitality business who took pride in their work."

"I imagine that many a waitress probably has had a wish or two in regards to their patrons as well." But Sheldon didn't catch the subtle jab.

"Amy," he said as he perused his menu.

"Yes, Sheldon?"

"Did I dream it, or did you rush out last night to get a package?"

"You… did not dream that."

"Well, that's comforting to know." Beat. "May I ask what that package, that induced you to such panic, might have been?"

Amy had been asking herself all week if she should tell him and when. The answer was starting to emerge. But first, there was a more pressing issue to address.

"At the risk of sounding evasive," she said, "I would like to ask you a question first."

Sheldon considered this offer. "Be my guest," he said.

"Very well then. There is a matter that we need to… discuss."

Sheldon squirmed a bit, diverting his attention to the salt and pepper shaker. "And what might that be?"

"Our… kiss."

He didn't say anything at first. "So I didn't dream that either, I take it."

"You did not," Amy said plainly. She had been mentally rehearsing ways to breach the topic all morning. She took a deep breath.

"I realize that we were both in an altered state last night—and I don't intend to assign more meaning to what transpired than is due—but I feel that we at least need to _acknowledge_ that it happened, and place it within the parameters of our relationship."

Sheldon didn't answer immediately, and Amy braced herself for whatever he might say.

"We've kissed before," he said casually, still occupied with the salt and pepper.

"We… have," she confirmed.

There was a pause. "It was… _pleasant_."

She didn't know if he was referring to their first kiss, or the one from the previous night, but she was too scared to ask him to clarify. He seemed to read her mind.

"I mean last night," he said.

She didn't respond.

He pushed the salt and pepper shakers to the side and met her eyes for the first time. "However, as our relationship is not a romantic one, I believe it is something we should not allow to happen again."

Amy nodded. "I… absolutely agree," she said, even though she did not.

"Good," Sheldon said. "And on to our second order of business: the package?"

"Well," Amy began, "I think you should know that Virgil and I didn't break up because—"

"So you and Virgil _did_ break up?" he interrupted.

"Um, yes," she said.

"I sometimes wonder if I've dreamed that as well," he said, less sincerely than the first time.

"I'm really going to need you to listen," Amy said.

He extended his hand. "You have the floor."

She bravely began again. "Virgil and I didn't break up because I'm going to Washington."

Sheldon clutched his chest in relief. "I'm glad to hear it. The thought of you abandoning a tenure-track position at UCLA's lauded Neurobiology Department to relocate to a third-rate community college in Podunk, America is the surest sign of the exact neurological impairment that you so tirelessly study."

"Sheldon," Amy said.

"Yes?"

"I'm still moving to Washington."

"Oh." Sheldon turned away. "Well don't I look the fool," he remarked, with something less than remorse. "Or you do. Depending on one's point of view."

"Sheldon, listen. Virgil and I broke up because…" —eternal pause— "I want a child."

Sheldon looked up from his menu with an unmistakable look of pure shock.

Undeterred, Amy continued. "In addition to other mounting issues, it became an irresolvable matter between us. And it's for that reason that I am back in Pasadena."

"I'm confused," Sheldon said. "What could Pasadena possibly offer you in the way of procuring a child?"

Amy answered. "What I've found in Pasadena is a well-reputed sperm bank. After much consideration, I've decided on a thoroughly vetted specimen from the facility on Central Avenue."

"This is… surprising news indeed," Sheldon said. She didn't know what to make of his demeanor.

"Sheldon," she began, "I would appreciate your support or at least acceptance of this issue. It would… really mean a lot to me."

Sheldon turned away, looking out of the window, and then turned back. "How did you… come to this decision?"

Amy sighed, collecting her thoughts. "After a long and particularly enlightening trip from Los Angeles to Albuquerque."

"Albuquerque?" he repeated.

"Virgil was participating in a food expo," she explained. Sheldon repressed baser urges and nodded politely. "Anyway, along the way, we found aural entertainment in the form of satellite radio. At some point early in our travels, I decided to keep a running log of the topic of each song we heard, and extrapolated from that list the themes that provide the most inspiration for popular music. The results were principally for my own enjoyment, as the test failed to meet several scientific norms."

"Limited sampling, subjective criteria, no control group," Sheldon muttered.

"At any rate," Amy continued, "after tabulating the results, 61 percent of the songs were romantic in nature, 24 percent were about family, 11 percent were about friendship, three percent were about mourning, and one percent touched on a hodge-podge of topics, including a song about trucks and—my personal favorite—a ditty about monkeys."

Sheldon rolled his eyes.

"Does anything jump out at you upon reflection on those statistics?" Amy asked.

"There was no song about trains," he replied.

"Anything else?" Amy goaded.

"No," he answered.

"Ninety-nine percent of those songs were about love."

Sheldon audibly scoffed, retreating behind his menu. "Well, as my mother always says, 'Love makes the world go round.' Well, that and money, or Jesus, or whatever else is convenient to the point she's making."

"Please don't be facetious," Amy said. "I'm serious, Sheldon."

"Fine, then," he said, shutting his menu and tossing it to the table. "You want my serious opinion? I don't know how listening to trite, sappy, pop music while riding through the desert convinced you to impregnate yourself with a gamete of indeterminate origin."

"Because as much as we would love to believe otherwise, Sheldon, love is the most transcendent part of the human experience. And while I've experienced romance, and friendship, and grief and monkeys, I have yet to have a family of my own." She paused. "I want that."

The hostess came back with drinks.

"Here, ma'am, is your cranberry juice and, sir, here is your water with lemon. I'll send a waitress over to take your orders."

Both drinks were filled with ice, and Sheldon's was teeming with lemons.

"You want to go?" Amy said.

"I thought you'd never ask," Sheldon said. He put a five on the table and they walked out.

* * *

Amy's and Sheldon's search for breakfast (that was quickly becoming lunch with each passing minute) had brought them to a small market just off the main drag; they decided to pull over. The hungry pair enjoyed a medley of apples, oranges and a banana they shared between them. The weather was amazing, and they took advantage of the sunny day to relax on a nearby bench. Previously, they had been discussing the relative urban significance of pigeons versus that of seagulls, but now they were just… sitting.

Sheldon piped up with a question out of nowhere.

"Why didn't you choose to use the genetic material of someone you know?

"Someone like whom?"

"Like… Virgil?"

"Virgil and I broke up, Sheldon."

"Fine, then, a friend, a workmate, a trusted neighbor… the mailman."

"Knowing someone doesn't make their spermatozoa better."

"Granted, but I would imagine you might choose someone with whom you have a rapport, if for no other reason than for the ability to hold them accountable in the case that the resultant child does not meet your pre-established requirements. There should be some legal recourse available."

Amy shook her head. "Sheldon, having a child is not about that, as I am learning."

"But, Amy, surely anyone who has invested the time, money and effort that you have into an endeavor of this magnitude should benefit from some sort of indemnification."

"Sheldon," Amy began. She searched for an example. "Look at your mother."

"Considering she isn't here, that is a rather bizarre request."

"I mean _consider_ her, _think_ about her. She has three children: your older brother who—according to your accounts—is a meat-and-potatoes eating, football watching, Harley driving, man's man; your sister, who is the modern, though mischievous, incarnate of the classic southern belle; and you, a, forgive me, typical—though infinitely endearing—nerd."

Sheldon scrunched up his face. "Nerds rule, Amy."

"And thankfully so," she agreed. "Regardless, your mother loves all of you equally, simply because you are hers."

"She loves me more," Sheldon mumbled.

"I don't believe she does," Amy disagreed. Sheldon pouted.

"I fail to see how this detour relates to the topic at hand," Sheldon said.

"Sheldon, there are only two ways to conceive a child: in the culminating moment of an act of passion, or in the culminating moment of an act of science. One (potentially) produces a father; the other—quite literally—produces a sperm donor. And, as the number of prospective fathers for any child I might have dwindled to zero, I made the decision to go fatherless. I assure you, it was not an easy decision to make, but either way, my child will be conceived in love, because—much like Mrs. Cooper and billions of other mothers—that child will be mine and I will love it."

Sheldon reflected on her words before responding. "That is a lofty and selfless pursuit, Amy, and one that you are well-suited for. However, I imagine that many people do not give so much consideration to the topic and yet those seem to be the very people that procreate most."

Amy shrugged. "It's the most egalitarian of all endeavors," she said.

Sheldon nodded.

They walked through downtown Pasadena, allegedly looking for a place that sold novelty T-shirts, but honestly just passing away the afternoon hours. They were at an intersection, waiting for the signal that pedestrians could cross.

"So, what is your—," Sheldon began, choking on the words, nervously. "What is your donor like?"

Amy felt very awkward answering the question. "Um, suitable."

Sheldon nodded. She could tell he wanted to know more.

"A Danish gentleman," she continued. "Tall, blond. A draftsman. He won a marathon once."

"Oh," was all Sheldon said.

The light turned green, and they stepped off of the curb.

* * *

As was becoming Amy's and Sheldon's custom, they returned to her hotel room. The evening passed by lazily, and they alternated between idle chatter and easy silence.

Sheldon at that moment, however, was giving a lively dissertation on the latest object of his affection: the hexeract, more commonly referred to as a 6-cube.

"But even more fascinating," he continued, "if you apply an alternation operation, deleting alternating vertices of the hexeract—" He paused. He was beginning to notice that his audience's attention was occasionally diverted to something on the other side of the room. He turned to see what might be competing for her attention, but only saw a suitcase, a mini-fridge and a potted plant. "I believe you are distracted, Amy," he stated.

Amy snapped to attention. "No, please continue. You were talking about alternating vertices."

"You are tired," he said with realization.

Amy nodded. "I… am, actually. Would it bother you if I… lied down for a while?" she asked.

"Be my guest," he said. She nodded appreciatively then ambled over to the bed, lying down. She didn't quite fall asleep however. They sat in silence a long while. However, Sheldon, quickly growing bored, perused his surroundings for diversion, and noticed a small, felt triangle nearby on the floor.

"What might this be?" he asked, picking it up. Amy looked up then fell back to her pillow.

"A felt pick. It's a tool harpists use when playing so that their glisses can be heard."

"Ah," Sheldon nodded.

There was an even longer silence, and Amy—drunk with fatigue—was seconds from falling asleep, when suddenly:

"Do you remember that time we talked about having children?" he asked nonchalantly. Amy's eyes shot wide open.

"Yes," she answered, as calmly as she could. "I do."

Of course she did. She'd been carrying the memory around like a good luck charm. She'd thought back on that time so much that she'd all but rubbed the memory raw. She was surprised, however, at the Sheldon's recollection of those old conversations.

He absently tumbled the felt pick in his hand, leaving her in suspense as if he'd asked her for the time or the value of radon on the periodic table. Privately, she'd always wondered why those discussions had ended. It felt like the right time to ask.

"Why did you… change your mind?" she asked.

"Because," he answered casually, still twirling the pick, "Penny convinced me not to."

Amy was taken aback at this revelation. She couldn't imagine how the topic would concern Penny at all. More shockingly, however, why would her friend interfere in such a personal matter, and a matter that could potentially rob her of happiness? She sunk a little.

"What was her reason?" Amy asked. "Did she say why she objected?"

"She reminded me of how upset my mother would be," he answered.

Amy didn't respond and, even though she didn't want to, she couldn't help but feel a little sad. Fully awake, she sat up in bed, and fidgeted with the lining of her comforter. After a while, she looked up at Sheldon and was a bit surprised to find him staring directly at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Do you think maybe…" he began, and then stopped.

Amy could barely believe her ears. Was he seriously about to propose what she thought he was? The prospect of it was so thrilling that it was almost daunting to consider. And yet his continued silence was agonizing.

"Do I think what, Sheldon?" she prodded.

He froze, unable to speak. Amy was so fitful, she could hardly breathe. She wanted to hear the words so badly she was on the verge of tears.

"Would you consider me as the… father for your child?"

She clasped her hands together tightly, the only outlet for the energy running through her body. But then, she stopped.

"Sheldon, we _know_ each other. If you were to give me your sp—"

"I realize that," Sheldon interrupted. He stood and then sat beside her on the bed. "I… would be willing to help you in rearing the child… financially and otherwise. If you would want that."

Amy was trying her best not to overact, but suspected that her joy was spilling out all the same. "Of course, Sheldon," she said. "There's nothing I would want more." Her heart leapt when she caught him smiling back. "How about… tomorrow?" she suggested.

He nodded in agreement.

This conversation alone was not adequate; there was more to consider, and the logistics had yet to be worked out but…

Amy couldn't stop smiling.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Sheldon asked.

"Sure," she said. "But… why don't you want to go home?"

"Raj is there," Sheldon moaned. "And he and I make poor bedfellows."

"Well, you weren't sleeping together, were you?"

"No," he said. "But any human proximity is quite too much. I've grown accustomed to living alone."

He didn't seem to sense the irony of the situation.

"Well, you are welcome to stay here," she said. Sheldon grabbed a pillow from the bed and headed towards the bedroom.

"You don't have to sleep in the tub," Amy said.

"Well the floor is certainly not an option," he explained. "A tub can be disinfected, while a carpet cannot."

"I meant," Amy clarified, "that you can bunk with me."

Sheldon considered this option for a moment.

"I don't bite," Amy added.

"Very well then," Sheldon said. He then walked over to his messenger bag and extracted a pair of red, man-sized, footed pajamas with a yellow lightning bolt on the front of them.

Amy was amused. "Does that bag have a trap door that leads back to your bedroom closet?" she asked.

"Amy you know that is metaphysically impossible," he said.

She smiled. Tonight was going to be a good night.

* * *

Sheldon woke up the following morning in a haze. After getting a grasp on his surroundings, he realized that… Amy was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP!

Sheldon woke up to find he was alone in the hotel room. Mildly alarmed, he called Amy, but the call went directly to voicemail. So, he decided to continue as normal, and went to the bathroom to shower, shave, and—as always—empty his bowels. Once clean and dressed, he began to think about what he should eat.

In his search for food, it seemed like a good idea to at least _try_ the mini-fridge first. He opened it, only to find it bare except for a Styrofoam bowl of unidentifiable soup, a half-eaten pack of Captain Wafers, and what he recognized as a large, metal, cryogenic thermos. Curiosity overtook him, he slowly withdrew the silver missile from the refrigerator. In plain letters along the sides were written "Live Tissue. Handle with Care." He returned it to the fridge and suddenly had the pressing urge to leave the room.

 _That_ morning, breakfast would be coming from the vending machines.

* * *

Fortunately, lunch was considerably less adventurous. When Amy finally showed back up, she suggested that they eat in the hotel restaurant.

"Amy," Sheldon began, after they had received their food, "Do you remember when we would attend general science 'lectures' at bookstores and heckle whomever the speaker was?"

Amy smiled. "I remember that fondly." She took a bite from her grilled cheese sandwich.

"Has your formal stance on the matter changed any?" he asked.

"I would hardly call it a _formal_ stance," she answered. "Although, on the whole, I find such books to be misguided ventures of largely _comic_ value."

"I see," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"I am afraid I've found myself in a bit of a dilemma," he explained.

"How so?" Amy asked.

"Well," Sheldon continued, "I have recently learned that, while in the eyes of the wider Physics community, I am a bona fide rock star," —Amy nodded in agreement— "within my department, I am the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the marginalized servant, dutifully slaving away at his craft while largely ignored by his colleagues, unable to advance or be accepted."

"That's unfortunate," Amy said. "How does that relate to popular science?" she asked.

"Well, a few days ago I was approached by the Dean with a series of criticisms—all of which were _completely_ unfounded—in regards to my performance. In short, he asserted that, because I don't bring enough money to the department, my future tenure was still a matter of debate. However, he presented me with a proposition: if I were to take a sabbatical to write a book on," he sighed, " _popular science_ , not only would I be financially rewarded handsomely, but I would receive instant tenure and the distinction of a University Endowed Professor."

Amy's jaw dropped.

"You have to write a book on popular science?" she gasped.

"My sentiments exactly," he answered, slicing away at his steak.

"You have my sympathies."

" _And_ , to make matters worse," he continued, "those whom I have consulted have all eagerly encouraged me to write the book without giving the slightest consideration to how doing so may affect my—if I may—street cred."

"May I ask who you have consulted?"

"My mother and Penny," he answered.

Amy nodded. She was still smarting from what she had learned about those two women the night before. "With all due respect, I wouldn't expect anything else from them."

"Then you think I should reject the offer?"

"Well, I didn't say that," Amy said.

Sheldon was surprised. "So you think I _should_ write the book?"

"The offer of money for work—except in particularly odious cases—should always be at least _considered_. Money is difficult to come by, and often meted out unfairly. Essentially, you have to get when the getting's good."

"I'm listening," Sheldon said with rapt attention.

"Well, I'm sure you are familiar with Steven Hawking."

"Of course," Sheldon said. "He's the theoretical physicist responsible for providing theorems regarding gravitational singularities in the framework of general relativity."

"Sure, but most people know him as that guy in the wheelchair with the robot voice that wrote 'A Brief History of Time.'"

"How unfortunate," Sheldon moaned.

"Maybe; but more likely, he just found a way to reach the maximum number of people without watering down his message, and I see no reason why you can't do the same. While writing you book, don't target soccer moms and ballet dancers; imagine an audience of retired teachers and chemistry majors. In the end, you'll be fulfilling the wishes of the University while still maintaining your professional integrity. Whether or not it is popular in the end, excuse my French, be damned."

"Amy," he said, "I rue the fact that I did not consult you earlier. Once again, you have advised me in a way that is both practical and logically persuasive."

"High praise," Amy said, smiling.

"And much deserved," Sheldon replied. He took a merry swig from his Diet Coke.

* * *

Sometime after they got back to the hotel room, Amy brought up a neglected topic.

"You might have been wondering where I was this morning," she said.

"You mean when I woke up?" Sheldon asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"No, I wasn't, actually," he answered. He totally had been.

"Anyway, I went out to buy this."

She held out her hand. In it was small plastic cup with a small plastic lid. He stared at it with no recognition.

"I've been tracking my basal body temperature for the last several months and, from the data collected, determined that I most likely ovulate tomorrow…" _God, this is awkward._ "So I have to… do it… tonight."

Sheldon nodded as if he understood, but there was still a disconnect. He looked like a deer in headlights.

"So, you just do what you have to do while I run to the store and go grab some… anything. I'll be back in like, what… a half hour?"

Nothing.

"An hour?"

He sat silently, providing no feedback.

"Sheldon, I need you to communicate with me," Amy said calmly.

"What is it that you want me to _do_?" he asked finally.

Amy sighed. "I want you to put your… genetic material in that cup."

"Of course," he said. He was squirmy, and weird, and ill at ease, and Amy, quite honestly, was deflating with each passing second.

And so it had come to this. There was, _really_ , no way around it. She was about to— _had_ to, really—pose the most horrifyingly awkward question she had ever parted her lips to ask _any_ one in her entire life.

"You _have_ masturbated before, haven't you?" she said.

Sheldon, a prude by anyone's standards, visibly twitched at the question. Amy was so _positively_ sure he was going to say no, that she was nothing short of astounded when he said:

"Yes."

 _Maybe this won't be as bad,_ she thought.

"But," he added, "it's been quite some time."

"Um…" was all that she could get out.

"My older brother, crass knave that he was, made a passing remark to me about 'beating the monkey.' Despite being 11 at the time and already attending college, I was completely unfamiliar with the term. I did some investigation and found that it was a favored pastime of many persons my age. Ever the researcher, I indulged in a little self-experimentation and found it to be a suitable diversion. What my brother, and pre-Internet Era research, failed to tell me, however, was that _discretion_ was of utmost important in _this_ particular activity."

"Oh dear," Amy said.

"My negligence in this area meant that my mother quickly learned of my budding hobby, and, need I say more, put a swift end to it."

"As many a mother does," Amy added. Despite her sympathies, Amy was no less determined that he—in the most literal of ways— would have to 'man up.' "I'm happy to report," Amy said, "that, despite your being rusty, self-pleasure is much like riding a bike."

"Painful and exhausting?"

"No," Amy said. "Something you never forget how to do."

"Well, I hope you're right," he said. He looked at the cup and back at Amy. Despair was on his face.

"I'll be back in an hour?" she said. He wilted some. "I'll make it two," she said and left.

Meanwhile, back at Sheldon's apartment, Raj was having absolutely no problem pleasuring himself.

Since Sheldon's mysterious disappearance a few days before, Raj had slowly turned the apartment into his own personal nerd cave. His non-working hours had become a never-ending carrousel of leisure bliss: perusing hundreds of comic books, cataloged and ordered by issue number; playing on _various_ gaming consoles he couldn't afford (without actually having to play with Sheldon); trying teas of every variety… the list went on and on.

There was a knock on the door. Raj took another sip of his beer and opened the door.

It was Howard… alone.

"Where's Bernadette?" Raj asked.

"She's over at Penny's," he answered, walking past Raj and over to the couch.

"So you mean I drank two cans of Miller Light for nothing?" he asked.

"She'll be over in a minute; fear not, your drunken attempts at self-medication will not be in vain."

Raj nodded. Howard took a sweeping look around.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said approvingly.

Raj nodded. "Thanks!"

"Sheldon doesn't mind you throwing that Indian afghan over the couch?"

"He doesn't _not_ mind," Raj answered cryptically.

"And the poster on the cabinets of the electromagnetic spectrum?"

"I use that as a reference guide when I'm doing my research," he said gleefully.

"And Sheldon's _cool_ with that?"

"He's not _not_ cool with it," Raj answered. He rushed over to cut out the lights, a giddy grin on his face. "Look, I replaced the light fixture with a convertible disco ball. Office by day, party by night."

"Nice," Howard said nodding. "But, come on-there's no way Sheldon is alright with that."

"Well, he's not _not_ alright with it."

"What's with the double negatives?" Howard asked.

"English isn't my first language," Raj said as an excuse.

"You minored in English as an undergrad and got your Master's degree at Cambridge. Your English is better than mine."

"Then I'm drunk," he said. Howard looked at him with nagging suspicion. There was another knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Howard said. He opened the door.

"Hi, Howie Wowie!" Bernadette greeted him.

"Hello, Bernie Wernie," Howard cooed back.

Raj rolled his eyes. It almost made him glad that his girlfriend was in Canada.

Amy got to the lobby and suddenly realized that she was too nervous and tired to go out anywhere. Besides, by the time she would have gotten in her car, drove around and finally _decided_ on a place to go, it would be time to come back and…

Get herself pregnant.

She would have to find distraction _within_ the hotel. She took a look around her and then walked over to the concierge desk. She saw something that piqued her interest.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK... and now Sheldon's hearing voices.

"What would I have to do to rent a bicycle?" she asked the man at the concierge desk. She pointed to a placard on the counter advertising a bike rental service.

The concierge looked up slowly, a cool disinterest written on his face. "We do not rent bicycles after dark."

Amy looked out of the front door.

"But… it's not dark," she said.

"Sunset, however, is in less than an hour," he said, rather annoyed.

"But I can be back within the hour. I promise," she assured him. "I actually have business to attend to here in the hotel."

"I'm sorry," he said, not very sorry at all. "But that is our policy." He turned his back to her and resumed doing whatever he had been doing before her arrival.

Amy sighed, but didn't leave. He turned to her once again.

"I'm sorry, was there something you needed?"

"What do you recommend that I could do nearby, or even within the hotel, that could kill, say, an hour?"

He sighed. "I'm afraid that most of our offerings would require more time than you can spare."

"Aww, come on," Amy said. "Price is no object." She winked at him, an attempting to be playful.

"If that is some clandestine attempt at inquiring where you can procure illegal drugs, I should let you know that I won't be able to assist you."

" _Drugs?_ " Amy blurted. "I have _never_ used any illegal drugs in my _entire_ life, and very few legal ones."

He scoffed. "Of course you haven't, dear." He returned to his previous activity.

Defeated, Amy walked off, and contented herself with taking a leisurely stroll about the hotel lobby. As she did, a startling realization descended upon her: if tonight's goals were all successful, this time next week, she would be pregnant.

With…

With Sheldon's baby.

Faintness overcame her and she sat down. A passerby noticed her diminished condition.

"You alright ma'am?" she asked. Amy looked up to see an older woman standing over her, concern on her face.

"Yes," Amy said, taking a deep breath. "Yes, I am. But, can I ask you a question?"

"If you're looking for directions, I'm just passing through myself."

"No, I wanted to know if you're a mother."

The woman chuckled. "I sure am. I have three boys. And the _youngest_ is 45. I'm not telling you how old I am."

Amy smiled. "Were you scared when you first… became a mother?"

"Oh dear," she said. "I was terrified. I was afraid I would mess up. I was afraid of labor. Heck, I was afraid they that they might grow up to be ax murderers." Amy laughed at that.

"How did you… stop being afraid."

"Well, when they got here I just… got into it. You can't stay afraid. You just have to… go with it."

"But what if you… can't," Amy said, still a little faint.

"Well, I guess you never get over it entirely. You worry about your children until the day you die. That's just… the way it is." She placed a tender hand on Amy's shoulder. "You'll figure it all out, dear."

Amy felt comforted by the camaraderie she shared with this kindly stranger.

"Thank you," she said.

"Now, if you could tell me where the restroom is, I would be very thankful to you."

Amy went to tell her, and then paused. "I'll walk you there," she offered. Rising, she took the woman's hand under her arm, and off they went.

* * *

Sheldon had been sitting on the lid of the bathroom toilet (on top of several towels, of course) for over twenty minutes and had not so much as unbuckled his belt. He looked down woefully at his lap, pleading for the anxiety that gripped him to surrender.

"Come on, Sheldon," he insisted. "This is a simple matter of gamete extraction. Nothing more, nothing less." His lap, however, wasn't buying it.

"Who are you kidding, Shelly?" it said, sounding suspiciously like it was Galveston, Texas. "'Beating the monkey' is 'beating the monkey,' no matter how you slice it… you perv."

Shocked, Sheldon whipped his head around, frantically searching for the source of the voice. Confirming that he was indeed alone, he was now disturbed to learn that his mind was playing tricks on him. He steadied his nerves and counted to ten.

Upon his further reflection, however, he noted that this should not be so intimidating; it was a common process carried out by millions of people a day—geniuses and idiots alike. He could not— _would_ not—let this get the better of him. He took a deep breath and reached for his ever loyal messenger bag. He really hated to do this, but at this point, he was out of options: he reached in and pulled out a glossy-paged bit of reading material.

Terribly anxious and out of things to do, Amy just came back early. When she walked in the door, she found Sheldon perched on the bed watching TV.

"So, how'd it go?" she inquired.

"I'm watching a fascinating documentary on the mating rituals of bees. Did you know that honey bee drones—or male honey bees—die in the act of mating?"

"If only that were true with humans," she mumbled.

"The program is now featuring what are incorrectly named, _sting_ less bee," he said.

She tossed her purse on the chair and came closer. "So, I was wondering how it went with… the _cup._ "

Sheldon sighed. "About that."

" _Sheldon_ ," Amy whined.

"I'm afraid I am ill-suited to the—and I'm using this word _extremely_ loosely— _art_ of self-pleasure."

"Couldn't you use a,"— _groan_ —, "mind over matter approach?"

"I found it tedious after a while. Besides, all efforts at daydreaming invariably left me thinking about the quantum states that lead to black hole entropy."

Amy stepped forward, grabbing the remote. "You are sitting in front of a device with over 10 channels worth of salacious assistance."

"I am categorically opposed to feasting my eyes on simulations depicting the objectification of women."

"Fine," Amy said. "Then you could have brought less lascivious, though equally arousing, reading material."

"I did!" he said with some excitement. Amy was heartened by this development. He pulled out three books, " _Sex and Eroticism in Mesopotamian Literature_ , _The College Prep Primer to Undergrad Sexual Psychology Class_ , and that perennial favorite, _Sex for Dummies_."

Amy picked up one. "These don't even have any pictures in them."

"Should they?" Sheldon asked. She shook her head tossing the book back to the bed. The she turned off the TV.

"Okay, Sheldon," she said, and squatted in front of him. "Maybe I could just… help get you started." He looked at her with more than a little trepidation. "Kiss me."

"I thought we agreed that we wouldn't kiss anymore."

"Fine," she said. "Don't kiss _me_. Pretend that you're kissing Angelina Jolie."

"Who is she, again?" he asked.

"Lara Croft in _Tomb Raider_."

Sheldon nodded with recognition. Then cocked his head. "I'm fairly sure that I wouldn't kiss her either."

" _Sheldon_ " Amy pleaded.

"Fine," he moaned. Bracing himself, he leaned forward, slowly ( _very_ slowly) and quite literally placed his lips on hers. It barely qualified as a peck.

"Seriously, Sheldon?" she said. "We _have_ kissed before."

"Which would lead one to think this would somehow be easier," he replied, quizzically.

"Okay, um… well, arousal is about touch."

"I knew it," Sheldon blurted excitedly, grabbing a book and flipping pages. "That's just what I've been reading in my coitus manuals. I've found most of it to be a bewildering conundrum of bums of elbows, but I did manage to capture that point."

"Sheldon," Amy said. When he turned to her, she quickly rose up and planted him with a firm kiss. She then, gently, planted his face with a series of smaller kisses, teasing his chin, his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips.

His lips.

His _lips_.

She pulled away, just a little, hovering so close she could feel his breath on her face. He closed his eyes and gradually began to reciprocate, his mouth floating around hers, in carnal limbo. Slowly, but surely, he kissed her back. She rose and leaned over him, pushing him against the bed with her body. She lifted a leg and began to straddle him, and she could feel his body relaxing. She held his head in her hands, silently begging him to kiss her harder and deeper. She felt his hands levitate to her waist, and his fingers lightly brushed her lower back. There was a lot more of that, Amy couldn't help but wonder how far they'd gotten… _he'd_ gotten. She let her hand wander softly down the length of his body, going lower and lower and lower, until it was all the way _down there_. She pressed her hands against his nether region and…

Nothing.

She was… stunned. She pulled up and looked in his eyes. He was staring at her, bright-eyed and calm… and definitely not aroused.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a minute, and then she got down and sat beside him on the bed. He sat up too. They stared at each other in deafening silence: Sheldon, waiting for an explanation and Amy… grappling with the words to say.

"I just…" she began. With each start, it got harder. "I guess… " She stopped there.

"I'm sorry," Sheldon said. And there was true remorse in his eyes.

She smiled, a little sadly. "Don't be."

"Amy," he said. He looked around her eyes, studying her face. "I think you are very beautiful." She wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something so sweet and innocent in the way he said it, her heart swelled and she suddenly felt herself welling up. She brushed her hand against his face finally letting in rest on his neck. Then rose up and tenderly leaned her forehead into his temples. Sheldon could feel hot tears running down the side of his face.

"Are you mad?" he asked.

"No," she said smiling. "I'm just… just going to miss you so much."

"I'm going to miss you too," he whispered. He put his arms around her and they embraced. They sat that way for a while, and then prepared for bed.

Amy hit her pillow, committed to sleep. She had a long drive ahead of her.

* * *

Amy woke up to tapping on her shoulder. She glanced at the clock; it was already 7:30. Squinting, she looked up to see Sheldon standing over her. He was fully dressed and clutching the strap to his messenger bag.

"I pondered letting you rest," he said, "especially considering that you have a full day of travel in your near future. But I wanted to… say goodbye."

Amy nodded and sat up in bed. Despite her intentions, she'd had a long, restless night, only falling asleep a few hours earlier.

She finally sat up. "Well, I guess this is goodbye," she said.

Sheldon nodded. "But we can still keep in contact," he said. "We have Skype and all other modes of social networking."

Amy nodded. A week ago, she'd thought that this day couldn't come fast enough. Now, leaving here was coming just short of breaking her heart. Online chatting seemed like a cruel tease when she'd had him in her bed every night for days. For a few fleeting hours, she'd even thought she would… bear his child. "Sure," she said, cheerlessly, "I'll call you when I get on the road."

He nodded. She stood, and they walked to the door. They paused there, staring at each other. "Bye Amy," he whispered.

"Bye, Sheldon" she replied. They hugged one final time and then he left through the door. Amy watched as he walked down the hall. He lingered in front of the elevator, then checked his watch and walked to the stairs. Her heart sunk a little when he disappeared behind the stairwell door.

She went back inside and set to packing up her meager belongings from the hotel room. She was astounded at how they had ever fit in her luggage in the first place. It was like trying to re-order a Rubik's Cube after it had been twisted around—one wondered if the squares had _ever_ lined up. She had acquired precious little during her stay there, and yet her things seemed to have spawned and multiplied. She got to the refrigerator and there was the cryogenic thermos. She turned it over in her hands, with an impossible mix of emotions. She threw it in her open luggage.

Taking a break, she sat on the bed and thought about her time there. When she'd set out for Pasadena a week ago, she never could have predicted what had transpired. She pulled out her phone. Usually, she liked to visually chronicle her life in digital form, but she hadn't snapped one picture or shot one video since she's been here. Life had been too chaotic, too raw, too intense—there had been no time to pause even to watch as the scenery flew by.

She had wished, however, that she'd taken one picture of Sheldon, maybe while he's slept. It would be a nice thing to have, to look at when he was far away and she was in Washington. She looked over the pile of clothes on the floor and her 11:00 check-out time. She had to get back to work.

* * *

Sheldon, apparently a man of public travel now, had had every intention of catching the bus to work on Monday morning, but had tarried in getting ready and thus had to take a cab. Riding along, it had crossed his mind that this was a day of significance: first, he had come to a decision on the "popular science" matter, and second...

Amy was leaving.

Hopping out of the cab, he went to the Dean's office, strident and sure.

"May I speak with the Dean?" he asked the receptionist.

"Um…" she said, turning to her computer. Sheldon was impatient as she typed; he saw her as less of an assistant and more of an impediment to progress. She finally looked up. "I'll let him know you're here, but only if it's a very quick matter. He is due to his Monday morning meeting in less than 15 minutes."

"I assure you I will be brief."

The receptionist nodded. "One moment."

Sheldon took advantage of the time to look around the room, decorated with the faces of reputed scientists of all disciplines: chemists, biologists, geologists, and physicists alike. The door swung open. The Dean looked at Sheldon with unmistakable surprise. Then he looked at the secretary.

"I thought you said it was Dr. Koothrapali?" he said. Sheldon recoiled at the assertion.

"In what way to do I resemble a transfer from a third-world country to you?"

The receptionist looked a bit panicked. "I'm sorry, but you two do share an office, if I'm not mistaken."

"So if I shared an office with a spore-producing plant would you think my name was Fern?"

The receptionist sighed. "May I have your name again?" she asked.

"I am Dr. Sheldon Cooper," he said with the haughtiest of airs. "Good Lord, woman. Have you not seen my face on the cover on _Physics Today_?"

"I'm afraid I haven't," she said.

"Then, what about on my APS award currently housed is in the Physics Department?"

She shook her head with no recognition.

"Surely you saw my face in the school newspaper in the article on my interview with NPR?"

The Dean interrupted. "Dr. Cooper, I am pressed for time. Shall we go back to my office?"

Flashing the receptionist one final glaring look, he followed the Dean back.

"I know this is about the publishing deal," the Dean said, looking a bit pained, "and I had every intention of calling you this weekend."

"What… what do you mean?" Sheldon said.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. First, am I correct in my understanding that you are _not_ interested in writing the book?"

"You are most _in_ correct. Upon discussing the matter with my counselors, I decided that the book deal may be a wonderful opportunity."

The Dean sighed, rubbing his hand down the length of his face. "Then, Dr. Cooper, I'm… I'm very sorry."

"And why is that?" Sheldon said.

"Well, Random House was pressing the University for a decision and, since you didn't seem that enthusiastic on Thursday, I deferred to the President's first choice."

Sheldon was taken aback. "And who might that be?" he asked.

"Well, it's still under wraps, but… what the hell, you'll find out eventually anyway. Dr. Barry Kripke from the Plasma—"

"I know full well who Dr. Kripke is," Sheldon interrupted, "and I would be remiss if I failed to mention that I think a poorer selection could _not_ have been made. And that includes anyone from the Geology Department."

"Dr. Cooper, I am sorry, but a combination of your apathy and procrastination has brought us to this point."

"Barry is arrogant and juvenile, and does not possess the required charm and charisma to represent this University in the public arena."

"And you do?" the Dean asked.

" _Of course_ ," Sheldon replied. "And need I mention that he sounds like Elmer Fudd? How will he give proper interviews?"

The Dean moved towards the door. "Dr. Cooper, the decision has been made, so if there is nothing else, I have a meeting to get to."

"There is something else," Sheldon cried. "A major selling point of this proposal was the guarantee of my tenure and title."

"Dr. Cooper," the Dean sighed, "those items, of course, were contingent on your acceptance."

"Which is a point that I find particularly repugnant," Sheldon spat. "It is my personal belief that there is no one in this University that would dare contend that I do not _embody_ the highest tenants for scholarship in my field. I have devoted myself to the pursuit of scientific investigation."

"Largely for your own ambition and advancement," the Dean pointed out.

"And thankfully so, as I find that I am surrounded by colleagues and administrators alike who are so thoroughly mired in the bureaucratic tedium and political wrangling of academia that they are less impressed by a brilliant scientist than a man that belongs in a Bugs Bunny cartoon."

"Now that is enough, Sheldon!" the Dean demanded. "Further comments like that one will put you on the _wrong_ end of an insubordination charge."

"As if the hierarchy of this University, as arbitrary as it is, would censor me in the least."

"Dr. Cooper, I am serious. This conversation is over." He stormed past Sheldon and walked out of the door.

"Fine, then!" Sheldon called after him. "I QUIT!"

The receptionist looked, wide-eyed and mouth agape, at Sheldon and then at the Dean.

The Dean turned around, exasperated… and annoyed. "Dr. Cooper, weigh your words. You've done this before and our patience for your antics is wearing thin. Don't be so sure we'll take you back this time."

"You won't have to," Sheldon said. With that he walked out.

* * *

Amy was packing the last of her things when she heard a familiar knock at the door and recognized it as Sheldon. Upon opening the door, however, she was even more surprised at how he looked than she was at his sudden re-appearance. He rushed past her into the room and started pacing. He looked a little crazed, a little jumpy.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Amy I lost it," he said.

Amy was confused. "Lost what?"

"The book deal. They gave it to Kripke."

The name sounded familiar but no face was coming. "Kripke, Kripke," she murmured to herself.

"Wascally Wabbit," Sheldon said. She gasped.

"You're kidding?"

He shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Sheldon," she said, moving towards him and placing a hand on his arm, but he kept moving, pacing, back and forth. "The bright side of this," she continued, "is that you really didn't want to do it anyway. In a way, they made the decision for you. At least you still have your work and your integrity. You haven't lost anything."

"Except that I quit."

She was reeling. "You did what?"

"I quit," he repeated. "I left Caltech."

"But… _why?_ " she said.

"Because, um, I…" He stumbled over his words, then abruptly stopped pacing, looking at the floor with a mix of panic and mania.

Amy slowly drew closer. "What… _plan_ do you have, Sheldon?" she asked.

His head snapped to her, and he looked poised to answer, but instead just…

Kissed her. Kissed her and fell into her. Poured into her, pressing deep and long. His kissed her like it was the answer to her questions today and tomorrow and the rest of his life.

"Let me come with you, Amy," he said.

She could barely catch her breath; it… it was all happening so fast.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You're just going to… leave _everything_?"

"There's nothing for me here," he said. "I need to go with you. It just… it just makes sense."

"But what about your things?" she asked, almost finding the situation comical.

"Amy!" he yelled. He held both her shoulders and, eye closed, touched his forehead to hers; he was pleading. "Please, Amy, just say yes."

She looked up at him, smiling. "Of course," she said with a chuckle. "Of course… yes. Yes. How could I say anything else?"

Sheldon looked at her, relieved and sober, and much calmer than before. "Great," he nodded. He started towards the door then turned around. "When are you leaving?"

"As soon as you get back," she said. "You'll find me waiting in the car."

He smiled a little. Then left.

* * *

For two people abandoning the lives they had both spent close to a decade building, they were bearing a very light load. Amy had left Los Angeles with little more than the proverbial clothes on her back (most everything had belonged to Virgil anyway). She had managed to pack all of her earthling belongings into about two-thirds of a U-Hall trailer that she was pulling on the back of the Ford Escape she was renting. Sheldon was free to use what room was left; he had brought back with him a book bag, a box full of entertainment, one suitcase, a couple of garment bags, and—of course—his messenger bag.

When they pulled down the door to the trailer, they both looked at it for what it was: a new beginning. Sheldon handed Amy the keys before climbing in shotgun. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"In the frenzy of the moment," he remarked, "I failed to ask you how long our journey would be."

"A little less than 20 hours," Amy said. "We should be able to do it in a couple days."

Sheldon nodded. "Splendid. Good thing I brought this."

He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a small box that Amy instantly recognized: it was the game Counterfactuals. She smiled brightly.

This was going to be the best road trip ever.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Sheldon take a road trip along the West Coast.

Sheldon pulled another card from the box. "In a world where cows sing and birds moo, who is the fortieth president of the United States?"

Amy thought a second. "Colonel Sanders."

"Defend."

"Cows, now purveyors of song, are valued not for their meat but for their entertainment value. Public sentimentality make the cow a sympathetic creature unfit for food, and the Midwest is scattered with farms of poultry, instead of cattle. As a result, the price of beef remains high and the price of chicken is abysmal. Colonel Sanders, of Kentucky Fried Chicken Fame, is unwilling to enter an already crowded chicken market, and thus never creates the business that would have become his claim to fame. Instead, upon leaving the military, he pursues political ambitions and runs for Kentucky governor. He uses the principles he learned in war to rescue that impoverished state. After the economic turbulence of the 1970s, he is a shoe-in for the Republican nomination instead of Ronald Regan, a benevolent, though politically green, actor from California."

Sheldon smiled, not without a touch of nostalgia on his face.

"Oh Amy, how I've missed this," he sighed happily. She couldn't agree more.

* * *

Amy sang along loudly to her iPod. "Another postcard from chimpanzees/And everyone is addressed to me…"

Sheldon grumbled, and started reading his graphic novel.

* * *

"OK, my turn, Amy said. "I spy with my little eye, something that begins with 'S'"

"Is it me?" Sheldon said, deflated.

"Get over yourself," Amy said. "Of course not."

It totally had been, but she changed it to the sun visor.

* * *

"Would you like to know why humans may never achieve invisibility?"

Amy shrugged. "Sure."

"Well, the very concept comes with inherently insurmountable constructs. True physical invisibility, or at least visual imperceptibility, requires that the molecules of the object in question—in our case, those of a human body—must remain absolutely functional while allowing all humanly perceptible photons—or at least a sufficient number of them to reduce visible distortion to nil—to pass through unaltered. However, the necessary processes, tissues and functions of any living being _necessitate_ that this is all but impossible. The metabolic system alone requires a relationship with heat that runs contrary to the very principles that would facilitate invisibility in the first place."

Amy shrugged. "So, I guess we'll never be invisible."

Sheldon gasped. "Don't talk like that, Amy. Good heavens, it's like you don't even _want_ it to happen."

Amy smirked and reached down in the box of Wheat-Thins that she was committed to making invisible.

* * *

"Amy," Sheldon said after a silent patch. "I am delighted to report that I have brought along an audio recording of a lecture of Robert Oppenheimer on the topic of the role of science in society. I found a copy on eBay and had been waiting for the right time to listen to it."

Amy was excited. "That moment has arrived," she said eagerly. "Put it in.

* * *

"There, Amy," Sheldon said as he put down his pen, "I am done with this personality quiz."

"It isn't a personality quiz, Sheldon, it's a 'type indicator'—arguably the most popular in the English language—and its startlingly accurate."

"Oh diddley-doo," he replied. "I maintain that it's a bunch of psychobabbly hooey."

"Don't forget, Sheldon, we met each other through a bunch of 'psychobabbly hooey'." Sheldon scrunched up his face at that. "So, what does it say?"

"It says I'm a…" he looked through the results. "See; this is exactly the kind of inconsistency I am referring to."

"Why? What does it say?"

"It says that I am potentially both an INTJ _and_ an ISTJ. One can't be both."

"Well, that means your sensibilities are very moderate in the area of sensing/intuition. Which one do you lean towards?"

"Sheldon scrolled down on his cell phone. "Apparently the 'S', but only negligibly."

"Very well, then, read your type indication."

He grumbled. "It'll probably tell me I should be a trapeze artist or an alpaca farmer."

"Hush and read it," Amy insisted.

"Fine," Sheldon said with a sigh. "ISTJs are faithful, logical, organized, sensible, and earnest traditionalists who enjoy keeping their lives and environments well-regulated." He trailed off.

"Keep reading," Amy goaded him.

"Typically reserved and serious individuals, they earn success through their thoroughness and dependability. They are capable of shutting out distractions in order to take a practical, logical approach to their endeavors, and are able to make the tough decisions that other types avoid." Sheldon paused again, then looked back at Amy.

"Sound like someone you know?" she said. Sheldon stewed a bit, but read on.

"Realistic and responsible, ISTJs are often seen as worker bees striving steadily toward their goals. Despite their dependability and good intentions, however, ISTJs can experience difficulty in understanding and responding to the emotional needs of others."

"And with that, we've hit the uncanny resemblance that you must cede to," Amy exclaimed.

"You know you can be a real know-it-all when you want to be," he said. "What 'type indication' does that make you?" Amy rolled her eyes.

"Is there anything else?"

Surprised, Sheldon looked down to find there was one more line. "They take special joy in maintaining institutions and are often highly religious." He looked—wide-eyed—at Amy. "HA!" screamed, "I'm not religious at all."

"But you come from a religious background and assign an almost religious fervor to—"

"Give it up Amy and admit defeat," he cried. "Such a major error compromises the integrity of the entire test and renders its deductive analysis and any resultant inferences moot."

Amy shook her head and clucked. "Typical ISTJ," she muttered.

* * *

Amy sang along to her iPod. "Another postcard from chimpanzees/And everyone is addressed to me…"

This time, she caught Sheldon humming along.

* * *

As the day drew to a close, Amy and Sheldon began to look for lodging. The GPS suggested that they stay at the Howard Johnson and so… they did.

After checking in and carrying in everything that was visible within the SUV (Sheldon insisted that such action was warranted because of the prevalence of "marauders" at roadside hotels) they collapsed into bed. Well, two beds. Within fifteen minutes of blisteringly quick (and blisteringly hot) showers, it was lights out.

As Amy lied down, she realized that it was the first time she had slept alone in several days. If she were being honest, she missed having a bedmate.

"Amy?' Sheldon called.

"Yes?" she said.

"Just checking if you were still there?" he said.

She smiled.

* * *

Per Sheldon's insistence, she woke up at the insane hour of 5:30 AM so that they could "continue to blaze the road." She reached over for the thermometer that had become her faithful morning companion and took her temperature.

It was 98.6.

She hadn't ovulated.

She returned the thermometer to the night stand and went to shower.

* * *

After a continental breakfast of coffee, fruit, and the tiny doughnuts that these kinds of hotels seemed to hoard, they were on the road once more. Sheldon was especially chipper.

"I must admit," he said. "I have found this trip to be one of the more exhilarating experiences of recent memory. It's an escape of the purest kind."

"And in a Ford Escape no less," Amy remarked.

He liked that idea. "How apropos. Amy, you bring the reckless rover out of me."

She smiled. "There have been a number of bandits, rebels, outlaws and wandering pairs of the male/female variety: Adam and Eve, Pyramus and Thisbe, Bonnie and Clyde…"

"Harlequin and Joker," Sheldon added. Amy shrugged.

"If you must," she said.

Sheldon had a realization. "And what could be a more fitting time for intrepid adventure than on the eve of my birthday." He turned to his traveling companion. "We have a new year ahead of us, Amy."

She nodded contentedly. "Yes… we absolutely do."

* * *

Around quarter to noon, they crossed the state border into Oregon. The air was getting brisker; the windows fogged up a bit. Amy turned to see if Sheldon could adjust the defroster.

He was sound asleep.

* * *

"Amy, our rations are getting desperately low."

The food in the cooler at this point was a distant memory, and even the packaged dry food was dwindling. Their current provisions consisted of a block of cheese, half a box of Triscuits, an overripe banana, and a bottle of pomegranate juice.

"Well, if you weren't so bent on breaking the world-record travel time from Pasadena, California to Olympia, Washington, one that—I maintain—has not even been established, we could actually stop and eat somewhere."

Sheldon thought on this a moment. "Wouldn't it be nice if vehicles had some accompanying compartment or trailer unit for the express purpose of cultivating food as needed for the passengers within? A mobile ag-world, if you will."

"You play Halo too much," Amy said. She was even more bothered that she thought it was a pretty good idea.

* * *

At some point in their travels, they encountered showers. Despite the persistence of the rain, the day remained sunny. The climbing elevation meant that they could see out and down below, and Amy looked up ahead, taken with the beauty surrounding them. So was Sheldon.

"I never fail to be spellbound and amazed by the optical and meteorological phenomena that cause the visible electromagnetic spectrum to appear, unbidden, in the sky."

Amy sighed whimsically, looking out at the vista. "I love rainbows too," she said.

* * *

Amy sang along to her iPod… and so did Sheldon. "Another postcard from chimpanzees/And everyone is addressed to me…"

"That _is_ an infectious little ditty," he remarked merrily.

"Who can resist a song about anthropomorphic primates?" Amy said.

* * *

On Tuesday afternoon, Amy and Sheldon left the interstate and descended upon the suburbs of Olympia. It wasn't yet five o'clock. Of course, Amy would have to call her mother soon and let her know she had arrived safely. But first, she wanted to see her new home.

Over a day and a half since when they had set out on their journey (and having been successful in their world-record-breaking efforts, Sheldon pointed out) they turned onto the street of their final destination. They scanned the houses for number 73, and heard the loyal GPS spit out its last pronouncement: "Your destination is on the left." Amy turned to park in the driveway. She and Sheldon got out of the SUV and stood in weary awe of the palace standing before them.

(Well, it was considerably smaller than a palace, but after a week in cramped quarters, their sense of space had been duly impacted.)

"Amy," Sheldon said beaming from ear to ear. "When you said you were renting a 'cute blue cottage on Mulberry Street,' I thought you were speaking figuratively. This is simply delightful."

Amy nodded in wonder. "It is adorable, isn't it?"

They shut the car doors and walked up the cobble path, stepping along the flower bed of pansies and up to the stately white door. Amy unlocked it with the key her landlord had sent to her in the mail. And then, with one final glance at each other, they stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Amy (and later Sheldon) enjoyed so much on the trip is, you guessed it, "[Another Postcard](http://youtu.be/4SvbUykdfAU)" by none other than The Barenaked Ladies (they sound familiar).


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Sheldon settle into their new home.

Upon entering Amy's (and apparently Sheldon's) new home, the charm of the place dropped considerably. While everything was reasonably clean (or, not clean enough for Sheldon) it was completely empty.

"Um, Amy?" Sheldon said.

"Yep?" she asked.

"Why isn't there any furniture here?"

"Because… I don't have any."

"I assumed there were no furnishings among our things because you had already amassed and packed such furnishings, and had them sent ahead of us along with a team of professional movers who would have the home in a livable and comfortable condition upon our arrival."

Amy was puzzled. "That was quite an assumption to make," she said.

"Well, it was the only way I could imagine that someone would venture to move thousands of miles away into a home that they had not previously visited."

"Or," Amy began, offering an alternative, "I could have chosen to arrange for men to deliver _locally_ -purchased furniture the day after my arrival, and thus I, the householder, would be available to assist in the furnishing process."

Sheldon thought on this plan a moment, and then shook his head. "No, without a doubt, my previous scenario is the only rational way to do it."

"Then I am sorry to inform you," Amy said, walking deeper into the house, "that I will be employing the latter method."

Sheldon slumped. "Well that is disheartening news indeed."

"Oh, it's not so bad," she said. "I picture us spending a cozy evening in our new digs, eating takeout food on braided mats while watching the latest episode of _Nova_ on your laptop."

"I believe that plan is short-sighted Amy," Sheldon said. "Where shall we sleep?"

"Ah," Amy said, one finger raised. "Follow me." She walked back outside, jogging briskly against the cold March air, and pulled out a small box. Sheldon didn't want to understand.

"And what might that be?" he asked, rubbing his arms.

"An air mattress," she said, smiling. She took the box and raced back to the house. Sheldon, instinctively, raced behind her.

"We have indeed sunk to new lows to conclude that a glorified beach ball is a suitable implement of sleep."

"Sheldon, it will only be for one night," Amy insisted.

"And it only takes one night to do irreparable damage to the lumbar region of the spine."

"One would never guess that you once spent an entire summer at the North Pole." The statement calmed him considerable. "Where is the intrepid explorer that braved the extremities of what humans can tolerate in the name of science?"

Sheldon pouted a bit. "You'll find what's left of him with compromised research, a big toe that aches when it rains, and horrible memories of a night of male nudity."

Amy drew closer. "Well, you show me that same fellow and I'll show you a man who stared into the bowels of a cold hell and laughed, undaunted, with a bellowing cackle."

Sheldon liked the thought of that. "I find that to be an accurate description."

"Great," Amy said. "Then with that lung capacity you won't mind helping me blow this up."

Sheldon grumbled; he liked the sound of that considerably less. There was a knock at the door. Amy went to go answer it.

"Yes," Amy she said.

"Hello," said a middle-aged man with an amiable face. "You must be our new neighbor."

"I'm afraid I am," Amy said. "How may I help you?"

"I have a huge bell-shaped package in my house addressed to you. I signed for it yesterday."

Amy brightened. "My harp!" she chirped.

"Whatever it is, it's awfully large. I wouldn't mind helping you get it over here," he said.

"I won't hear it," Amy replied. "My friend and I will take it off of your hands right now." She turned to Sheldon. He was not happy. "Sheldon?" she called.

Dutifully he followed her out of the front door and across the lawn to their neighbor's house, grumbling the entire way.

"And I'm guessing that harp was _locally_ purchased and not shipped from Los Angeles," he said.

"Oh hush," she said, regretting not putting on her coat.

* * *

Penny and Leonard were talking after dinner when the conversation turned to a comical recollection about Sheldon's fear of heights.

"Hey, speaking of Sheldon," Leonard said. "Have you seen him lately?"

"Why?" Penny asked, "Is he acting strange at work?"

"Well, that's the thing… I don't think he was at work today or yesterday."

"Weird," Penny said. "Didn't you see him at lunch?"

"I had to work through my break," Leonard said. "Our research group is hosting an outreach event."

"Hm," Penny said, thinking. "You think he might be depressed?"

"I don't know. Last time I _saw_ him he looked okay. Even though that was… Friday at noon."

"Yeah, but you know how he is. Whenever Amy leaves he gets really down. I'm worried about him," Penny said. "Maybe we can invite him to go out with us somewhere."

"Like, where?"

"I don't know. Doesn't he like the comic book store?"

"He _did_ ," Leonard said. "But he hasn't been there in… a while. Besides, I thought you hated the comic book store."

"I do. I feel like raw meat hanging from a butcher window."

"Well, if you think of something, I'm game."

"Ooh, I know!" she said. "There's a train expo on tour in California. I read someone that it'll be in LA this weekend."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Leonard said. Penny nodded, getting more enthused.

"Go tell him right now, see if he wants to go."

Leonard shrugged. "OK." He crossed the hall and knocked on door. Raj answered.

"You're still here, Raj?" Leonard asked, surprised.

Raj shrugged. "Sheldon hasn't kicked me out."

"Wow. This has been a very long three days."

"Yeah," Raj said, his face perplexed. "About Sheldon: where _is_ he?"

"Wha—what do you mean?"

"I haven't seen him in a while."

"What do you mean you 'haven't seen him in a while'?"

"You know, a while."

"A while, like, a couple hours?"

"A while, like… four days."

 _"Four days_!" Leonard exclaimed. "And it didn't cross you mind to let somebody know?"

"I was actually kind of enjoying having the place to myself. Did you know he likes _soy_ milk?"

Leonard rolled his eyes, then pulled out his phone. After three rings, there was an answer.

"Where are you?" he screamed.

"I'm sorry," Sheldon replied. "With whom am I speaking?"

"Don't you have caller ID?" Leonard asked.

"Yes, but Leonard Hofstadter doesn't usually call me barking out demands for information. I assumed your phone had been stolen and I was now the potential victim of extortion or some other crime."

"Sheldon," Leonard continued, "everyone is really worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because we haven't seen your body in days. You weren't even answering your phone."

"I had misplaced my charger," he explained.

"Yeah, well, we were about to send out a search party."

"Well, call off the dogs. I'm currently a free man within a stone's throw of Olympia, Washington."

"Washington?" Leonard said with realization. "You… _went_ with Amy?"

"I did," Sheldon confirmed. "And, come to think of it, can you do me a favor?"

Leonard sighed. "Um, I guess."

"Excellent, I thought you might. Can you evict Raj and then water my plants while I'm gone? I left instructions on the coffee table."

"Um, I'll water your plants."

"And Raj?"

"I'm not getting in that."

"It's just as well; you don't have the cojones to throw Raj out. It's better that I did it myself."

Leonard grumbled. "When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure. I've suddenly realized in stunning clarity that I have my whole life ahead of me, Leonard. And I may just start living that life elsewhere. One thing is certain: I'm not going to allow myself to be governed by others anymore." He hung up.

Leonard stared at the phone, bewildered. "Right. Because you're so easily controlled," he muttered. His phone rang again.

"And don't tell my mother," Sheldon said, and hung up.

* * *

Much in keeping with her original vision, Sheldon and Amy sat Indian style on old towels eating take-out Chinese. Sheldon's mood had brightened considerably, and not just because _Nova_ was on solar neutrinos.

"Amy," he chirped, "this tangerine chicken is simply splendid. Overtly tangerine-y… not like the dubious tangerine chicken of the place we frequented in Pasadena."

Amy nodded wearily, absolutely _exhausted_ from two days of driving and an evening of unpacking. And tomorrow looked like even more work. "Sheldon, I am afraid sleep is overtaking me. I'll be heading to bed."

"Or to mattress," he muttered.

"Regardless, have a good night," she said, and wandered, almost drunkenly, back to her bedroom. After changing into her PJs and pulling the blanket over her head, sleep was only seconds away, and all went black.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she looked up again to the distinct feeling of someone's presence.

She opened one eye and saw Sheldon clutching a pillow while wearing shorts and a white T-shirt, but more importantly, staring at her.

"I was contemplating how to get into the bed without waking you," he said.

Wordlessly, she moved to the other side of the air mattress. Sheldon got in next to her.

"Amy?" he said. She was beginning to notice he got chatty at bedtime.

"Yes?" she asked.

"May I ask you a question of a private nature?"

She found the request puzzling. Sheldon had never been one to hesitate before asking _any_ one _any_ question, and he typically barged in with inquiries of all kinds, no matter how intrusive or toe-curling.

"What is it?"

"Do you… still want a child?" he asked. She turned over; she needed to see his face: he looked sincere.

It was a simple question—a direct question—but she still didn't have a response. On one hand, the answer was yes: she didn't know which had come first, the chicken or the egg, but now the whole business of having offspring had consumed her to the point where it felt like it was following her around—like a silent shadow—and tapping her on the shoulder, reminding her that she was incomplete without one. Yet, on the other hand, a complete answer meant she would have to confront what happened in the hotel room on her last night in Pasadena. Her skin crawled with the memory of a night filled with disappointment… and then regret; more regret than even _he_ knew. Than _anyone_ knew.

"I only ask," he continued when she didn't say anything, "because… given our current living arrangement—one that we could not have foreseen at the time—perhaps our previous foray into procreation need not be shelved. We could… use fertility methods employed by couples in a clinical environment. I have done some basic, preliminary research into the area of reproductive medicine…"

As he spoke, Amy… didn't know what to say. She had heaver imagined that that he would remain interested in something they'd originally tried on an impulse. She watched, paralyzed, as he spoke: there was Sheldon Cooper—a man she'd met under the most unlikely of circumstances with the _least_ of romantic intentions—lying beside her, in a bed they shared, proposing that they take another shot at having a child together. Everything about her, about him, about _them_ should make this conversation an impossibility—and yet, there they were having it. She wanted to say yes _so very_ badly, but instead she said…

"Maybe it's for the best that it didn't happen."

He looked… surprised. "Why is that?" he asked.

"Because," she began, "everything is happening so fast. It wouldn't be wise," she said.

After a pensive moment, he responded, maybe a bit wounded. "Very… well then," he said, and lowered his head to the pillow.

She clamored for something to say, to salvage the moment. "Maybe we could talk about this again… later," she said.

He nodded.

And with that, she turned back over, her heart racing, and pretended to fall back sleep.

* * *

"Sheldon," Amy called, shaking his shoulder. "Sheldon."

"You either die a hero," he muttered, not quite awake, "or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

"Sheldon," she called again.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he said, staring at her with no recognition.

She shook her head.

"Were you saying something, Amy?" he finally said.

She nodded. "I'm delighted to see that, despite a delayed arrival, your frontal cortex appears to have joined us. And with that," she continued, "can I entrust you with making sure the furniture delivery men are attended to?"

Sheldon nodded heartily. "With my classic bran of attention to detail." That was what Amy feared.

"When they are done, would you give them the bag of doughnuts on the counter?"

Sheldon nodded. "And where are you off to?" he asked.

"I have a myriad of errands to run. I'd rather go early to DMV and _then_ attend to the others that have less potential for long lines."

"Excellent plan," he said.

She nodded. "I'm off. I should be back this afternoon with my pre-owned Toyota Prius," she said retreating.

 _Fuel economy aside_ , Sheldon thought, _it's still no match for the Batmobile._

* * *

Sheldon was pleasantly surprised that the furniture delivery men had come at 10:30, exactly as promised. However, he was less surprised that they didn't seem to have the foggiest idea about how to correctly set up a bedroom suite. So, he took it as an opportunity to teach them how, and proceeded to micromanage them as they put the bed together. The men were working—sighing and groaning—and Sheldon was running point.

After an excruciating forty-five minutes, one of the men had had enough.

"Sir, your name is not on our delivery slip," he pointed out, "nor are you the one paying for it. So, according to our company policy, we simply can't take orders from you."

Sheldon was doubtful. "I would like to see that policy in writing."

"Great," the man said. "I have an idea. I can give you directions to our store and you can drive down there _right now_ to see the policy in person. Meanwhile, we'll just finish up working here."

Sheldon shook his head. "There was a problem with that plan. You see…" he paused. "What was your name again?"

"Hank," the man answered.

"You see, Hank," Sheldon continued. "I don't drive." This confession turned the heads of the other men as well.

"You mean to tell me, Mr. Bossy Boots, that you can't even _drive_?"

"I request that you refer to me from this point forward as Dr. Cooper… _Hank_ ,"—more eye rolls—"And, in answer to your question, I've logged over a hundred hours on a driving simulator and made one harrowing trip to the emergency room for the sake of a friend. So, for the sake of clarity, I _can_ drive but I _choose_ not to."

The man sighed. "Well, then, can you _choose_ not to run this? We don't _simulate_ putting furniture together; we actually do it for a living."

"More damning evidence to the fact that you should be doing a better job. Now, those screws are wholly insufficient for the purpose for which you are using them, as the bed frame's center of gravity—" Sheldon was interrupted by his phone ringing. He looked down to see that it was his mother. "I have to take this," he announced. "But don't go on without me. This would be a fine time to take a break." As he walked away, the men began to work at a near back-breaking pace.

Sheldon answered.

"Hello, Shelly," Mrs. Cooper said.

"Hello, Mom," Sheldon said. "It's so nice to hear from you."

"I wouldn't dream of letting your birthday go by without giving you a call," she said. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Fine, Mom. And even better now that you've called."

"Great, son," she said. "Did you get the cookies I sent you?"

Sheldon swallowed down his panic. He hated to lie to anyone, much less to his own mother, but he had accepted the life of a man on the run. Much like the Dark Knight himself, deceit was his life now.

"Of course," he said. "I've not eaten any, as I would, uh, like to enjoy them with… TEA, yes, tea."

"Chocolate chip cookies with tea?" his mother said perplexed. "Hey, to each his own. Anyway, Shelly, have a blessed day and don't get into any trouble, alright sweetheart?"

"Of course not," he said. He suddenly felt a little sad. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Shelly," she said, and hung up.

When he returned, the bed, nightstand, dresser, and living room bench were all assembled. Hank handed him a clipboard and asked for his signature.

"I see," Sheldon began. "Now that my signature is needed, I have suddenly become a suitable representative for the furniture."

"Just sign the damn thing," Hank said. Sheldon obliged reluctantly, and then sent them off with the bag of doughnuts, just as Amy had instructed.

After they left, Sheldon shut the door behind them and leaned against the wall.

"That was exhausting," he sighed, wiping his brow. He decided to go get a shower and take a nap.

* * *

Leonard was doing the dishes when he heard a commotion outside his door. Curious, he looked through the peephole and saw a small crowd of people gathered across the hall—people, like, holding balloons and dishes and presents. He could also hear someone banging rather loudly on Sheldon's door.

"Can I help you?" Leonard asked, stepping out into the hall. He didn't see anyone he recognized, and he wondered at the commotion. A moment later, pushing her way through the crowd was… Mrs. Cooper.

"Leonard," she said, a bit annoyed.

"Mrs. Cooper!" he cheered. She was, quite literally, the _last_ person he expected to see.

"Do you know where Shelly is?" she asked gravely.

 _Uh oh._

"You mean he's not home?" Leonard asked.

"Well, I thought he would be," Mrs. Cooper said. "I spoke with him on the phone not fifteen minutes ago."

"Well, maybe you can come back tomorrow," Leonard suggested. "He should definitely be back by then."

"I _could_ do that," Mrs. Cooper said. "But tomorrow won't be his _birthday_." Leonard looked back at the crowd, feigning ignorance.

"Is that what all those balloons are for?" he asked.

Mrs. Cooper had an idea and started wagging her finger at Leonard.

"Don't you have a key to his apartment?" she asked.

Panic!

"Um, well, you know… I don't feel comfortable intruding on his privacy."

"I understand," she said calmly.

"You do?" Leonard said, relieved.

"Sure." She pulled out her phone. "However, I'm sure the police won't mind going in when I file a missing person's report."

Leonard sighed. "Fine." He pushed through the crowd and unlocked the door to the apartment; the whole kit and caboodle poured in like herded cattle.

There were no signs of Sheldon.

"Alright, everybody," Leonard announced, "Sheldon's not here. So let's just all file out in and orderly fa—"

"Dear Leonard," Mrs. Cooper said. Leonard turned to find her reading from the note that Sheldon had left on the coffee table. "Thank you so kindly for agreeing to be the steward of my apartment while I'm out of town. You will find the key to my mailbox taped to the back of this note." She flipped it over and saw the bare spots where tape once was. The key was gone. Mrs. Cooper cut Leonard an accusing look.

"He hadn't actually asked me yet when he wrote that," he said in his own defense—a very, very weak defense.

Mrs. Cooper kept reading. "You will find four liters of Fiji water in the refrigerator. I ask that those be the only liquids you use to water the plants. Pay special attention to the gardenias, as they become particularly temperamental while I am away." Mrs. Cooper paused. "Good Lord, Shelly, they're just flowers," she groaned. She kept reading. "Although, you have access to my mailbox, I ask that you only _collect_ the mail and not _open_ it. I guard my privacy ferociously, and I trust you won't violate it. As a final point of business, please ensure that none of my action figures have been stolen, especially the Batman next to the stereo, as I'm sure you already know that he has an emergency fifty dollars lodged in his buttocks. With deepest regards, Sheldon Cooper, PhD."

Mrs. Cooper walked over to the Batman, lifted it, withdrew the $50, and deposited the cash into her bra. "That's for the wasted gas," she said. "Now, next up, sweetie," she said, looking at Leonard. "You're going to tell me where my son is."

Leonard stammered. "I'm afraid I don't know," he said. "He only said he was going away for a while."

"That's admirable," Mrs. Cooper said.

"What… what's admirable?" Leonard asked.

"It's admirable that Sheldon has your unwavering loyalty when he has been so, well, _forthcoming_ in what information he shares with me about you."

"Thank you for the— hold on, what information?" Leonard asked.

"Oh, nothing really. Just that, after you broke up with that little brown girl from overseas, you spent close to 24 hours moping in your room and engaging in a very _rousing_ game of solitaire." She cleared her throat. "If you catch my drift."

"That bastard!" Leonard shouted.

"That _'bastard'_ you're referring to is my son," Mrs. Cooper calmly reminded him.

"Of… of course," Leonard said, but seething nonetheless. "I apologize."

"No harm done. But, um, since you seemed to be a little peeved with him, perhaps you could, let's say, return the favor."

Beat.

"He's in Washington State 'in a cute blue cottage on Mulberry Street' outside of Olympia with Amy Farrah Fowler. I don't know any details beyond that except that sperm is involved."

"Sperm!" came a collective cry from the entire group.

"Oh, um… of course, you know it may not necessarily be _his_ sperm, I mean, the details are a little fuzz—"

Mrs. Cooper had heard enough. "I'm going to track that boy down," she said, "like a hound tracks down a raccoon."

"Am I… free to go?" Leonard asked bashfully.

"I just have one more question," she said.

Leonard braced himself for the worse.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Mrs. Cooper is not a happy camper.

Amy came home, delighted to find that the barren wasteland that was her house had started to resemble an actual home. She made her way back to the bedroom and, upon arriving, saw Sheldon in a robe, staring at the bed. A question was on his face.

"Amy?" he began.

"Yes?" she replied.

"This is a very small bed."

"It's a full size."

"Meaning it is larger than a twin and smaller than a queen."

"I know what a full size is, Sheldon," she said.

"Then only one question remains: Where am I to sleep?"

"If we're smart about things, we can both fit there," she answered. Sheldon looked at her with weary doubt.

"Why would you purchase such a small bed?"

"It's not 'such a small bed' Sheldon," she said. "And besides, it was the most economical option that met my needs at the time of purchase. I thought I would be sleeping alone."

Sheldon sighed, cocked his head in one direction, and then the other, regarding the bed like an ancient artifact.

"There's always the air mattress," she offered.

Sheldon was appalled at the suggestion, and held up his hand," Okay, now, Amy… let's not get crazy."

"Fine then," she said. "We can go bed shopping for you tomorrow. In the meantime, you can sleep here." Sheldon relented.

"Well, if nothing else I was raised to make do with what's available," he said.

Amy smiled. "Very well then! With the cold front coming in, I think you'll find this sleeping arrangement more than tolerable, and in fact preferable."

Sheldon shook his head making his way to the door. "I certainly hope you're right."

As they had dinner, Amy suddenly had a question. "So, have you considered taking up employment at the university" she asked. "I'm sure they would be chomping at the bit to have a physicist of your caliber."

"Frankly," Sheldon said stretching, "my recent experiences in the world of academia have left me, shall we say, jaded. Working in the field of higher education no longer interests me."

"So, what do you plan to do here in Olympia? I know you well enough to know that you can't remain idle."

"I'm glad you asked," Sheldon said. He retrieved a small notebook from his bag. "I spent a good part of the afternoon compiling a list of short-term goals and occupations. The working title of the list is 'Short-Term Goals and Occupations.'"

"As appropriate a name as any," she said.

"It is filled with 112 items listed and prioritized by level of difficulty, projected expense, time required and potential of contributing to my receipt of a Nobel Prize." He handed her the notebook. "I think you will find it contains the right balance of attainability and challenge, as well as productivity and diversion.

She perused the list. All the usual suspects were there: string theory, fantasy swords, blogging; something caught her attention.

"Number 86: Learn to play the lute?"

"Ah, yes," he began. "Music has been sorely lacking from my repertoire of skills and, I thought, what better instrument to begin with than that Renaissance-Era, stringed instrument: the lute." He stared off, lost in reverie. "I imagine myself, the nomadic, lone storyteller, spinning my tales of love and woe to stringed accompaniment at the Renaissance Faire."

Amy thought on this a moment. "If you chose to learn how to play the lyre instead, I could teach you and we could play duets."

"The lyre was the small harp principally used during the heyday of the Greek Empire, Amy. It would be wholly out of place at the Renaissance Faire."

"Sheldon, I believe you assign more historical fidelity to those events than your fellow attendees."

"Sadly, I believe you're right." He sighed. "One more sacred institution sullied by clumsy costumes and popcorn kiosks." He took back the notebook. "I could just as soon play the electric guitar and be right at home."

Amy imagined Sheldon playing guitar: she liked it.

* * *

As Amy often did, she awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. It was one of the few working devices in the house, and turning out to be one of the most annoying.

"Yes," she answered groggily, and then regretted not checking the caller ID.

"Are you still asleep?" came a woman's voice. Amy recognized it as her mother.

"Not anymore," she said. She glanced at the clock; it was 9:54 AM.

"Well I can't imagine why you've slept in so late," her mother said.

"Please don't tell me you just called to make sure I wasn't still asleep," Amy moaned.

"No, dear, I didn't," she replied. "I called to arrange a lunch date. I'm not ashamed to say I'm thrilled that you're in town. Please, Amy, there's a darling little sandwich shop on Wine Street. My treat!" she chirped.

"Sure, sure," Amy agreed. Then she thought about Sheldon. "Um, can I call you back in a few minutes and let you know if I can make it?"

"Why wouldn't you be able to make it, Amy?" her mother asked. "Are you blowing me off?"

"No, no," Amy insisted. "Love you mother, I'll call you back."

"Amy—" her mother called, but Amy hung up. She leaned over to Sheldon's side of the bed. She was surprised to find that he was still asleep, but he looked restless, like he could wake up at any minute. Amy hastened things along.

"Sheldon," she called. She tapped him once on the shoulder. "Sheldon."

Slowly he emerged from slumber, yawning and stretching.

"Where am I?" he said.

"Washington," she answered. "And my mother invited me for lunch. What are you going to do?"

"Why am I in Washington?" he asked.

"You joined me here. I start a new job. Now focus."

Sheldon looked at her like he was meeting her for the first time. Amy sighed.

"Does it always take you this long to wake up?" she asked.

Sheldon struggled to sit up. "You're having lunch with your mother," he said in his first coherent statement.

"Yep. And while I'm gone, what shall you do?"

He thought for a moment. "Does this god-forsaken town have any institutions of higher learning?"

"There's a library down the street. I could also drop you off at the University if you want."

Sheldon placed his feet on the floor. "Drop me off at the library. But only if it has a café that also serves high-fiber bran muffins. My bowels are in sore need of attention."

She sighed.

* * *

Amy dropped Sheldon off at the _University's_ library and then went to meet her mother. They were dining on their soups and salads at a local deli when Amy contemplated initiating the conversation she should have had with her mother long before she even _decided_ to leave Los Angeles.

Of course, she could always just kill herself. That remained an option.

"Mother, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and you know I'm not getting any younger."

"Don't remind me," her mother chuckled.

"So," deep breath, "I think… I have been thinking about having a family."

Surprisingly, her mother was delighted at this news.

"Wonderful, Amy," she said. "I would love to be a grandmother while I'm still alive. Have you… found someone _special?_ "

"Not exactly," Amy stammered.

Her mother seemed confused. "Well, you know it takes two to tango, if you know what I mean?"

Amy crept towards the issue. "What if I hadn't found someone 'special,' but still had kids anyway?"

Her mother tried to understand. "Like adoption?"

"Like… with a man that I wasn't necessarily… _with_ … romantically."

Her mother seemed to be inching towards the dreaded truth. "Like _sperm donation_?"

Amy sighed. "Um, yes, a sperm donation."

"Oh, Amy," he mother cried, "Why would you wanna do something like that? Listen; there are some wonderful boys that work at the nursery."

Amy wasn't having it. "Mother, I'm not dating any of those 'boys from the nursery.' And what is more, the vast majority of them only work there to get discounts on the fertilizers they use to fuel the hydroponic marijuana farms they cultivate in their apartment bathrooms."

"Oh, Amy!" he mother said, scandalized. "Why must you be so cynical?"

"I'm not being cynical Mother, it's just that… I just got out of long-term relationship. I don't know why you're so anxious to get me into another one."

"I'm really not," she answered. "I just don't want you to be alone."

Amy poked at her cole slaw. "Mother," she began bashfully, "Sheldon is here."

Her mother looked around. "In the deli?"

"No, no—back at the house."

She was surprised at this news.

"So, he's… _visiting?_ "

Close enough. "Yeah. For a while." Her mother seemed less than enthused.

"So you all are… back talking?"

"Yes. We… managed to mend ways while I was in Pasadena. It was wholly unexpected, I assure you."

Her mother just nodded. Then something seemed to cross her mind. "Amy, I wasn't going to tell you this, but," she paused. "Virgil called me the other week."

Amy squirmed in her seat. "What did he want?"

"He wanted to wish me a happy Valentine's Day," she said.

"Oh please, Mother," Amy said with an eye roll. "And I'm guessing my name didn't come up?"

"He might have asked how you were doing," she added.

"Of course he did," Amy scoffed.

"Is it a crime that he misses you, Amy?"

"Mother, be serious. If he wanted to know how I was doing, he had ample opportunity to inquire while we were a couple. I find his sudden interest in my well-being highly suspect."

"Amy, look—he didn't mistreat you. So you had some disagreements? All couples do. Have you ever considered giving him another chance?"

"It's more… complicated than that Mother."

"It always is with you Amy," she sighed.

Amy insides were racing. This was going to be harder than she thought.

* * *

"So what's this I hear about Sheldon and Amy eloping in Vegas?" Raj asked as he poked at his mashed potatoes. Leonard was supremely annoyed.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked, just as Howard sat down at the table.

"From Howard," Raj answered.

Leonard turned to Howard. "And I guess you heard that from Bernadette?"

"Nope," Howard said, "Bernadette said they got hitched in Olympus."

Leonard sighed. "Nobody got hitched anywhere. Sheldon just decided to go with Amy to _Olympia_ , Washington for a little while to clear his head."

"If Sheldon 'clearing his head' means I get a break from baffling conversations and condescending insults," Howard said, "then I'm all for it."

At that every moment, Barry Kripke plopped down at the table. "What's up, wosers?" he said.

Howard moaned. "I taunted the gods."

"To what do we owe the dishonor of your visit?" Leonard asked, facetiously.

"Well, since Shewdon's not awound anymow, I figuwed you guys couwd used another wunch mate." Then he proceeded to scarf down his Caesar salad. "Ugh, I hate womaine wettuce," he said.

The three of them looked at each other and groaned.

* * *

Sheldon returned his Batman reference book to its shelf after having a delightful afternoon. He walked outside with the intentions of notifying Amy that he was ready to go when he noticed that he had 38 missed calls. Thirty-seven were from his mother, and just one was from Amy. He also had two voice messages. He checked the one from his mother first.

"Hello, Shelly," came Mrs. Cooper's voice through the phone. "This is your mother. Just so you know, me and Missy and half of Galveston were sorely disappointed to knock on your door yesterday and discover that you were out of town. But as you well know, my disappointment very quickly turns to ire. So I suggest you pipe up with some information on your whereabouts or this will quickly turn into the worst birthday memories of your life." There was a pause. "I love you, son, and have a blessed day."

Sheldon panicked. Why wasn't his mother in Galveston?

He called Amy. There was no answer.

"Hello. Is this Dr. Fowler?"

"I'm sorry," Amy said. "With whom am I speaking?"

"Oh you know full well who you're chatting with, sweetheart," Mrs. Cooper replied.

"I'm afraid I do not," Amy insisted.

"Well let me clear it up for you. Word is you and my boy ran off together."

Amy sat up, amazed. _"Mrs. Cooper?"_

"Amy darling, are you aware that yesterday was my son's birthday?"

"I am," she said flatly. "He's reminded me several times."

"And yet you didn't see the injustice in depriving him of spending it with his own mother?" Mrs. Cooper asked.

"Um… with all due respect, Mrs. Cooper, I did not deprive him of _anything._ He is a grown man and more than capable of making his own decisions. Besides, he has told me on numerous occasions that he doesn't celebrate his birthday."

"That doesn't have anything to do with _me_ celebrating it!" she cried. "Now, where are you?"

"I'm afraid to tell you," Amy said.

"There's no need to be afraid of me, sweetie," she cooed. "I wouldn't hurt a fly. But I _swear to God_ if you have my child off in LA living in sin, I will not be accountable for my actions!" Amy heard mumbling in the background. "Don't sass me, Missy. I am _not_ overreacting."

"We are not in LA," Amy assured her, "nor are we 'living in sin.'"

"So the rumors of you being in Washington are true," Mrs. Cooper said. "Good thing I decided to take I-5." Amy's discomfort was mounting.

"How did you get my number?" Amy asked.

The answer was Leonard, but Mrs. Cooper was never one to reveal her sources.

"Oh, I can't tell you that," she said. "Or I'd have to kill you. Just kidding, I'd never kill anybody." He voice lowered to a growl. "Now where is my boy?"

Amy was done. "If you have any further questions, Mrs. Cooper, I respectfully ask that you address them to your son. Good day," she said and hung up.

"Who was that?" Amy's mother asked, only recently returned from the ladies room.

"The wicked witch of the Southwest," Amy quipped, then excused herself and stepped outside; she called Sheldon.

"Sheldon?" she said. But he launched into talking.

"I have been trying to call you for several minutes, and—"

"Listen, Sheldon," she interrupted. "You mother just called me and she is _not_ a happy camper."

"Camper?" Sheldon repeated, confused. "If she's camping, no wonder she isn't happy. I'm never known my mother to be a camper at all. My father was the camping aficionado in our family. My mother's idea of camping was falling asleep on the front porch."

"Sheldon," Amy sighed. "Your mother is upset with you."

"Ahh," he said with sudden realization. "This is the very reason I've been calling you." He paused, perplexed. "Wait, how do you know she's upset with me?"

"She informed me in a conversation that I just concluded with her, in which she also assured me that she wouldn't kill me. Which, frankly, is no less alarming that an actual death threat," Amy said.

"She'd never kill anyone. Jesus doesn't like murderers. Besides, she has no clue where we are."

"I guess you're right," Amy said, with a shrug. "As soon as I drop my mom off, I'll come and get you."

He sat on the curb, and waited.

* * *

"Amy?" Sheldon asked as they went down the road.

"Yes, Sheldon?" she asked.

"Were you aware that Batman only fought Hitler once?"

"Considering that under no paradigm could I be called a Batman fan, or a fan of any other comic book superhero, I didn't realize he fought Hitler at all."

"Well he did. During World War II, while the rest of the Justice League regarded the Führeras Public Enemy #1, Batman barely fought Nazis at all, only battled with Adolf Hitler once—on the cover of World's Finest #9 — where Batman and his friends launch tennis balls at the German dictator."

Amy had one. "Did you know that in tribal societies of Australia telepathy is accepted as a universal human faculty?"

"No, but I fail to realize how that relates to Batman."

"It doesn't, but I thought we were regaling each other with bits of tedium that had no relation to our mutual interests."

"If that was an attempt at humor," Sheldon said, "then it was badly done." Amy smiled.

"I thought it was funny."

Sheldon looked out of the window with alarm. "This isn't the way to the furniture store," he said.

"I know, but I wanted to run home and grab my chap stick—my lips are parched," Amy explained. As they drew closer to the house, they noticed a car was parked in the driveway.

"And who might that be?" Sheldon asked.

Amy cruised by slowly, peeking into the driver's seat. She gasped. The car had Texas plates.

"Sheldon," she said. "That's your mother."

"Impossible!" Sheldon said.

"It is," Amy insisted. "Have a closer look."

Sheldon craned his neck then sat up—aghast.

"Dear Lord," he said. "It's like she materialized out of thin air."

"Well," Amy confessed, "she did mention earlier that she and Missy were on I-5 and headed this way."

Sheldon snapped his head to her. "Why didn't you mention that earlier?"

"I thought she was bluffing."

"My mother doesn't bluff, Amy. She once told my brother that if he lied to her one more time, she was going to wash his mouth out with bleach. Well, lets' just say he still has whitest teeth among us."

"I'm just going to have to talk to her," Amy said, opening the car door.

"DON'T!" Sheldon cried, holding her back. "When she gets like this, there is no reasoning with her whatsoever. It's best to remain calm and rational." He ducked down to the floor. "Drive away," he said in a loud whisper.

"Sheldon, honestly we—"

"DRIVE AWAY!" he demanded. Amy put the key in the ignition and pulled off.

* * *

Amy and Sheldon wandered through the bed store showroom, assessing the available options, but were hopelessly distracted, and the conversation kept going back to Mrs. Cooper. While Amy seemed baffled by the whole situation, Sheldon seemed close to scared out of his wits. She had the suspicion he was dragging out the shopping excursion to stall for time.

"How in tarnation did they get here so fast?" Amy said as they passed yet another canopy bed.

"She and Missy must have taken turns driving all night," Sheldon answered pensively. He slumped, disappointed. "They've surely broken our speed record."

"How did she even know where I live?" Amy wondered.

"This is an easy one," Sheldon explained. "Without a doubt, Leonard is our mole. He and my mother have a long history of solidarity and camaraderie. And—as Leonard is spineless and easily intimidated, and my mother is cunning and determined—he is a virtual sieve of information in her presence."

"It's ultimately of little consequence," Amy said nonchalantly. "She can't do anything to us."

"Oh but she can," Sheldon said. "She never leaves home without her pepper spray. In the event that she ever wins big at Indian Bingo, she would like to be prepared if someone tries to attack her in the parking lot on her way to her car."

"So you believe that your mother would _assault_ me?" she asked.

"I'm not saying she would," Sheldon answered. "I'm just not saying she wouldn't." She had never seen him like this.

"Sheldon, look at us," she said.

Sheldon looked around, scanning the room. "To do that would require a mirror."

She was about to tell him that they were two grown adults who had lived independently and responsibly for over a decade and thus should not be beholden to his mother, when she remembered something. She thought back to what Sheldon had told her in the hotel room, about what Penny had said all those years ago. Maybe Sheldon _was_ too submissive to his mother; maybe he esteemed her opinion too much. Maybe Amy was deceiving herself, and he was just a taller and less Jewish version of Howard. She stopped walking, and so did Sheldon.

"Sheldon," she sighed. "I want you to be honest with me."

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't be otherwise."

"I know we thought we were ready for a new start and adventure, but maybe… maybe this was all a huge exercise in delusion."

"How's that?" Sheldon asked.

"I would hate to be the reason behind a falling out between you and your mother. Maybe it would be wisest if you just went back home."

Sheldon paused a minute and a realization dawned across his face.

"You know what Amy?" he said, confident and sure, "I wouldn't even consider it. I have always lived my life using my energies to try to please everyone around me, often at the expense of my own happiness, but _no more_!"

Amy took exception with this. "With all due respect to whatever anxiety you may be feeling currently, you seem to be a person who generally lives exactly as you wish, almost to the exclusion of the opinions of others."

Sheldon lifted his head up. "Well then there is no reason to change now!"

Amy's face brightened. "So, you mean you're not leaving?"

"Absolutely not," he said, and marched off.

"Where are you going?" Amy said and jogged behind him. He walked up to a salesperson, spinning the man around.

"I'll have _that_ bed," he pointed, with a demanding tone, "with _that_ bedding, and _that_ mattress and it will be delivered to my home at 73 Mulberry Street, tomorrow at 10:00 sharp." He pulled out his credit card and handed it to the man. "Am I understood?"

The man took the credit card, looked at it and then turned back to Sheldon. "That was easy," he said and walked off to ring Sheldon up.

He turned to Amy and winked. With a smile, she winked back.

* * *

Despite Sheldon's previous bravado, his confidence began to wane on the trip back to the house. Amy couldn't help but notice his crouching posture and timid stance as they drew closer and closer to home.

"Amy," he said, pulling on the collar of his T-shirt. "Do you feel hot?"

"Um, no, actually," she said. "It's rather cold outside."

He didn't seem to hear her and turned on the A/C.

"Sheldon!" she said, "It is late February in a state that shares a border with Canada."

"Just for a moment," he said. She relented, as they were less than 30 seconds from home. She slowed as she approached the house, only to notice that…

The car was gone.

"Huh," Sheldon said. "It appears they left."

Amy nodded. "Your mother probably realized how foolish she was being and decided to go home."

Sheldon was visibly relaxing. "Either that or Fuddruckers has Missy on call," he said. "Shame, I was really looking forward to giving her a craftily-worded piece of my mind." Amy just shook her head.

Amy pulled into the driveway, and the two went inside. As it was close to dark, they decided to order a pizza and then commenced to putting up the dishes in the dishwasher. When that was done, they sat down and began rifling through their severely reduced DVD collection, as the cable had not yet been set up and they only got five stations on the television. After close to a half-hour of hearty debate (and still without coming to a decision on whether to re-watch the first season of _Downton Abbey_ or the seventh season of _Stargate SG-1_ ) there was a knock at the door. Sheldon grabbed his wallet and then rose to go and get it. He looked through the peephole but didn't see anyone.

"Who is it?" he called through the door.

"Pizza," the voice responded.

Sheldon opened the door and gasped.

It was Mrs. Cooper.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now let's go," Mrs. Cooper says. " _Your_ home's in Pasadena."

Sheldon stood in near catatonic shock at the site of his mother on the front stoop. Standing just behind her was his twin sister, Missy.

"How did you know we ordered a pizza?" Sheldon asked.

"I watched the pizza man walking up to your door," she answered. "This is not my first rodeo, Shelly. Now let's go," Mrs. Cooper said, waving her arm (and the pizza). " _Your_ home's in Pasadena."

"No mother," Sheldon objected. "I'm not going back there."

"Sure you are," she said. "You can only call in sick so many times before they start getting suspicious."

"I quit my job," Sheldon blurted.

Mrs. Cooper was stunned. "You did _what_?"

"I quit," he repeated. "I left Caltech."

"Now why in the devil would you do that?"

"They gave the book deal to Kripke."

Mrs. Cooper gasped. "The boy that talks funny?"

Sheldon nodded. "Besides, they don't respect me there. I'm not going back."

Amy heard the commotion and walked to the door. Mrs. Cooper flared up at the sight of her.

"What have you done to my son?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Amy said simply.

"Well, he's never acted this way before."

"What way, Mother?" Sheldon asked.

"Acting crazy, quitting jobs, running after women," she stated.

"Well, he's never run after a woman before," Missy interjected. "As for the other ones…"

"Mother, you can't control me!" Sheldon yelled. "I've already made up my mind. I'm not going back and that's final."

Mrs. Cooper shook her head. She was upset, and she spoke quietly but firmly when she did.

"Now, Shelly, I brought you up better than this. I taught my children to have some respect for themselves, to lead their lives with stability and integrity—not to shack up with the first girl that comes along."

But to Sheldon, that accusation was unfair.

" _Missy_ is living with somebody," he argued.

"Missy is _married_ ," Mrs. Cooper countered. "Now that is _totally_ different."

At least, that was the _official_ story: Six months prior, Missy had announced that she and her boyfriend had gone to the justice of the peace and gotten hitched. But a couple months later, she had called Sheldon to request if she could put him down as her emergency contact at work. When he'd asked her why she couldn't list her "husband," she came clean about the deceit, but swore him to secrecy. Sheldon's face now, however, was reflecting that he knew the truth. Missy, who was standing behind Mrs. Cooper, made gestures that indicated that she would slit his throat if he let her secret slip.

"Missy," he said, "I cannot understand that makeshift sign language you're employing. If you want to communicate with me you must speak aloud."

Mrs. Cooper's head whipped around to her daughter. Missy gave her a crooked smile.

"We'll talk later," she snarled. Missy was furious and shot Sheldon daggers.

Mrs. Cooper turned back to her son; she put her hand over her heart and took a deep breath. She softened some, and laid a hand on his arm.

"Shelly," she began tenderly, "I understand; you're disappointed and so you've made a rash decision. You're looking for freedom and you're looking for comfort. And who doesn't want those things? But, I can find you somebody else to publish your book. My cousin Moonie works for Texas Town Publishing Company. I'm sure he could give you a hookup."

"Mother, I don't care about that book!" Sheldon hollered.

"Sure you do," she said, soft grin on her face. "Remember how you said you were going to dedicate it to me?"

He put his hand on the door. "If I _were_ to write a book now, I would dedicate it to Amy Farrah Fowler, the only woman who actually supports my decisions."

All three women gasped. Mrs. Cooper was incensed.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day that my baby boy would insult me to my very face." She pointed at Amy with an accusing finger. "That woman's got a hold on you, Shelly, and it's not a good one. But, I have my pride. And you do, too. So when this whole thing goes to hell, don't come calling me." She marched off, with the pizza. "C'mon Missy."

"Thanks, Shelly," Missy snapped, and stormed off behind her mom.

Sheldon watched, upset, as his mother and twin sister sped off into the night.

There was a moment of piercing silence.

"Did you mean what you said about dedicating the book to me?" Amy asked.

"Of course not," Sheldon said, storming past her towards the living room.

"Good." Amy said, relieved. "I would never want my name affiliated with a book of popular science." She stood in front of him where he was sitting on the couch and laughed a little to herself. "Did you see your mom's face when you said that she couldn't control you? She was as red as the buttocks of a baboon."

But Sheldon didn't find any humor in the situation. "I've never hurt my mother before," he said, crushed. "I was always the perfect one. Her little angel."

Growing more serious, Amy took a seat next to him on the couch.

"It's hard, Sheldon. We want our parents' approval. Even… when we're adults."

But Sheldon couldn't hear her; he was elsewhere, anxious. "She thinks I'm doing this to hurt her, Amy… to get back at her."

"I know," Amy said, nodding.

"She thinks we're living in sin," he continued, "but we aren't." He turned to Amy. "She'll probably never talk to me again."

"Don't think that way," Amy said tenderly. "It's hard for children to get along with their parents. But she still loves you. That will never change."

But her words were of little comfort, and she looked on helplessly as he grew more distressed, more sullen, more withdrawn. After a minute, she rose and went to the kitchen. She made them both a bowl of cereal and then returned, handing him his. After a second of hesitation, he looked up at her and then took it; she he sat next to him. They ate in total silence, save for the clinking of their metal spoons against their porcelain bowls.

When they were done, she collected both bowls and made the short trip to the kitchen. Moments later, Sheldon appeared behind her and, again in devoted silence, he joined her in washing what was left of the dishes. Night had already fallen, and the saddening events of the evening hung low and dreary over them; they walked to the bedroom, set to retire early. Without turning on the lights, Amy changed into her sleepwear, and Sheldon did too, finding tranquility and peace in the dark that obscured them. And then came the time for bed, and for sleep and for dreams.

It was an evolving routine for them, sleeping together each night, but one that they had fallen into easily. Amy, the smaller of the two, climbed in first and Sheldon after her, tucking himself into whatever space remained. They lay facing one another, and despite the dark, the little light that came in through the window was just enough for them to make out each other's faces. They stared at each other—cramped and folded in a tiny bed not made for two—without saying a word. In that moment, Amy felt that everything she had, everything that was hers in the world, was lying there beside her. She wondered, as she often did, what Sheldon was thinking, but the moment was so fragile, she dare not speak or it might shatter. But, she didn't have to.

"Thank you, Amy," he whispered.

"For... what?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but reached over and gently ran a finger through her tousled hair. His gaze was fixed on her and his eyes were silently smiling.

She recognized that look, a look as primal and human as a shudder or a heartbeat.

It was the look of desire.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but their lips were joined in an instant. They came together feverishly, colliding against each other with mounting strength and mounting passion.

Sheldon moved closer with each kiss and was soon hovering over her, leaning one arm against the bed while the other wandered aimlessly, finding a home (probably accidentally) on her thigh. Amy kissed him back, taking pleasure in his lips; though they had done this before, this time was… _different_. Against all odds, Sheldon was shaping up to be a good kisser. Pulling away, he looked down at her with the barely there smile that she so adored. She placed a tender hand on his cheek.

"Amy," he whispered, "let's engage in coitus."

She sat up a little, propping herself up on her elbow. It was, of course, shocking news, and she studied his face for clues of his hesitation. "You don't… think that's a bit ambitious? For tonight?"

He shook his head, earnest and serious.

"I want to. Let's have intercourse."

With anyone else, his intentions would have been clear, but with Sheldon one never knew.

"And when you say 'intercourse' you mean?"

He sat up with his shoulder leaning against the headboard. "I mean I want to insert my penis into your vagina with the goal of reaching sexual climax."

With that cleared up, Amy sat up, too, and—after enjoying his eyes for a moment more—she began to kiss him with heightened determination. Orally, she traveled a path from his mouth and down his face, and then farther still, finding pleasure in the soft flesh on the underside of his neck. He was tense, but willing, and took control of the moment. Without pausing, she pulled his pajama top open, but he resisted pulling it back shut.

"My chest is devoid of any genitalia," he said.

"Sheldon, if you are uncomfortable bearing your chest, then, quite literally, the worse is yet to come."

Uneasy, he didn't move.

"Let me do this," she urged.

Finally relenting, he let go, and she pulled his shirt open—pushing his sleeves down the length of his arms—and continued her journey down his chest.. She didn't notice the apprehension on his face.

"Is so much licking really nece—kckckck…" His voice caught as Amy ran her tongue around his nipple. She looked up. His eyes hung sleepily and his lips parted. She did it again, and she could feel his body react. Encouraged, she took one hand and ran in down the length of his torso, gently searching for somewhere— _anywhere_ —that would illicit more pleasure. She took a tour of his thin, firm body, sinewy hands, and soft hair. She ducked one hand just under the band of his pants and that's when she saw his tremble.

"Are you okay?" she asked, half-worried, half-pleased.

He closed his eyes and nodded, his face marked with the pain that only ecstasy knew. She began kissing him again and, to her surprise, he kissed her back with a fervor she hadn't seen from him before. As they did so, she had one hand fondling his nipple while the other teased his sweet spot just about his groin.

Then she remembered. "We don't have a condom," she said, breathless and frustrated. She threw her head back, but Sheldon was unbothered.

"I… have one," he said.

She was shocked.

"Where?"

"In my wallet." With his face he seemed to ask for permission, and when she nodded, he reached over blindly for it on the nightstand and produced a single square package of prophylactic. After coming to terms with her amazement, Amy grabbed it and tucked it in her bra.

They began again as if never interrupted—groping their way through and fumbling blindly towards ecstasy. Sheldon even began to reciprocate some and felt one of his hands at the base of her back. They continued that way, when Amy suddenly felt his manhood, for the first time, pressed against her leg.

She was surprised, arrested even, but utterly _electrified,_ and a chill ran through her body. The significance of the moment was not lost on Sheldon either, but instead of being thrilled he seemed… frightened. He pulled away some, and Amy could see the reluctance in his eyes. He was still so close, a nose away, and yet she could feel him retreating.

"Amy," he breathed, so, so faintly. There was a flash of panic in his eyes. "I… I can't."

Amy shook her head. "No, you can," she whispered. Abandoning all other ministrations, she threw a leg over his body, straddling him, and took his head in her hands, kissing him, caressing him, assuring him, _loving_ him. She could feel him responding to her touch, coming back to her… surrendering to the moment. She grabbed one sleeve from his shirt, but met resistance and realized Sheldon was gripping the bed sheets on either side. Picking her battles, she reached from his pajama bottoms…

And then stopped.

He looked at her with a question.

"You should do it," she said.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes as if petitioning the gods for power. He let go of the bedding he was holding in a death grip and, after another moment of rallying his courage, he pulled down his pants.

Halfway down.

 _Good enough_ , Amy thought, and plucked the condom from her bra, hurriedly opening it and rolling it down the length of his shaft. He looked at her work with steady fascination as if she were performing a medical procedure. Finally, she pulled her own gown over her head, freeing her from her top as well.

And then…

And then there they were: nothing between them but sweat and skin and intense yearning. Careful and gentle, she descended to his body, and slowly, slowly, _so slowly_ they united in flesh and in spirit. Amy writhed against him, fueling the rush that was pulsing through them both. With each movement, she saw his tension building, until he reached his climax with a shudder, quaking with the pleasure that coursed through his veins. Her ending was less rapturous, but she didn't care. There would a time for that later… she hoped.

When it was all over, they sunk back down to the bed. Sheldon collapsed to her side, his arm caught beneath her head, as his own head snuggled near hers. He clung to her loosely as she stroked the side of his face.

"Amy," he whispered into the night. And in that single word, he'd said it all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon and Amy go to Whole Foods

When Amy woke up the following morning she found herself alone in bed. Stretching and yawning, she got up and walked to the bathroom to find it especially clean, and took this as evidence that Sheldon had gotten up early. She used the toilet, took a quick shower then brushed her teeth. Throwing on her jammies, she strolled to the kitchen, fully expecting to find Sheldon there. When he wasn't, she headed back to her room and was startled to see him in the living room, writing in a notebook.

His hair wasn't groomed and hung—shaggy—over his eyes.

"Your hair is long," she said. He looked up through his bangs, startled a bit.

"I know," he said and resumed writing. She strolled over and took a seat beside him.

"How long have you been up?" she asked.

"Since very shortly after you fell sleep," he answered.

"You were up all night?"

"More or less."

She pointed to his work. "Is that what kept you up?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "During the night, I took a shower, then decided to clean the bathtub only to then be struck with an idea regarding two-dimensional membranes."

 _"Aaah,"_ she said in understanding. "The midnight epiphany. It's best to strike while the iron is hot."

Sheldon didn't say anything. She took a seat next to him.

"There's a Hair Cuttery near my mom's place," she continued. "I could drop you off there sometime today if you wanted," she offered. He looked at her, nodded and resumed writing. He turned a page.

She ambled to the kitchen again, extracted a bowl from the dishwasher and poured herself some Captain Crunch. Sheldon would have rather taught Sunday School than begin his morning with what he called "candy masquerading as a meal," but she could think of no better way to start the day. She returned to the couch.

"Did you remember that I have to go to the University today to fill out some paperwork before I begin work on Monday?"

Sheldon nodded.

"And the deliverymen are bringing your bed today," she added.

He nodded again.

This was shaping up to be more of an interview than a conversation. Amy contented herself with reading the cereal box. A few silent minutes later, Sheldon shut his notebook and rose.

"I'm going for a walk," he announced.

"If you wait a sec I could come with," she offered. He shook his head.

"Finish your breakfast."

She nodded. He left.

* * *

"Oh no."

"What?"

"Oh no."

"What?"

"It's this guy's house again," Hank said, and looked down at the paper on his lap. He groaned. "And this time, his name is on the invoice."

"Why? What's the matter with this guy?" his truck mate asked. Hank looked at him with quiet panic.

"You weren't with us Wednesday when he rode our asses for hours while we put together an entire bedroom suite and a bench for the living room. I nearly slit my wrists a couple times."

"That bad, huh?"

"Jack… it was worse," Hank said. He and his pal got out of the truck and walked up to the house. Hank took a deep breath and knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open and none other than Sheldon was standing there. "We're here to deliver the queen you ordered," Hank said.

"Then I trust you have acquired all the necessary security clearance and brushed up on royal protocol," Sheldon replied.

"Huh?" Hank answered.

Sheldon shook his head. "Come in." The two men followed him several paces and he pointed down the hall. "You can set it up in the second door to the left across from the restroom." Then he returned to the living room, sat down and resuming writing.

Hank looked at his customer in disbelief. "So you're just gonna sit here while we work?"

Sheldon looked up. "That is my intention."

"And you're not gonna tell us how to do our jobs?"

Sheldon didn't answer for a sec. "No," he said plainly and returned to his work.

Hank nodded approvingly. "Then let's get to work."

* * *

Upon Amy's arrival, she was introduced to the Director of the Neurobiology research group, Dr. Smith, who then took her on a tour of her new department. It was, much as she expected, smaller than her former department, but her colleagues were friendly and the students seemed motivated. Because the university was so small, all research faculty were required to teach a course load as well, the first time Amy had taught in her career.

After her tour, she went to Human Resources and filled out tax forms and insurance paperwork and other documents, then sat down to watch a video on the rights and responsibilities of all University employees. She tried to focus on the television in front of her, but her mind kept drifting to Sheldon at home. Something had shifted and things were different. She had tried to put on a good face that morning, but she privately feared that things had changed.

* * *

When she got home, Amy and Sheldon headed to the barber shop. Virgil's haircuts had never taken long, and so Amy had always just waited outside in the car, or occasionally in the waiting area, until he was done. She figured she'd do the same with Sheldon. After about a half hour, sure enough, out he came. She honked the horn to signal where she was parked and he walked over, getting into the passenger seat.

"You look handsome," she said.

"Thank you," he said drily. He had been like that all day. Eerily tranquil and verbally brief. She was sure it had to do with the previous night, but she didn't know how to… get inside.

The ride home was largely silent, and she had to initiate the few exchanges they did have. When they got there, Sheldon went directly to the back while she just… stood aimlessly in the living room. After a while, she sauntered back, half curious to see what he was up to, half bored and lonely. The bathroom door was wide open and he was standing there, just… staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't notice her watching at first and, when he did, he jumped and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of painkillers seemingly at random.

"You have a headache?" she asked.

"Um, sure," he said noncommittally. He turned to leave the bathroom and then stopped. Amy watched him as he watched her, and they stood staring at each other a minute, eye to eye for the first time all day. Something had to break the visual stalemate, and almost if my divine imperative, she looked to her right and her face brightened.

"Look," she said nodding towards the window. "Snow… in March."

She started towards the back of the house and, surprisingly, Sheldon followed. Opening the back door, she looked out at the wooded patch and the picturesque scene behind the house, and he stood beside her doing the same. Light and nimble, the snowflakes fell gracefully from the sky, dusting the already beautiful vista with a coat of white paint. It had the effect of soothing her. Sheldon spoke softly.

"I haven't seen snow since I left MIT."

Amy nodded. "It's been quite some time for me as well."

They stood in silence a bit more when Sheldon spoke again.

"Does it seem to you like yesterday occurred a million years ago?"

It didn't, but she wondered why he might feel that way.

"Why?"

He paused a beat before answering. "It always feels that way after a great change."

Amy turned to him. As she watched him, she wanted to tell him that she understood how he was feeling. She thought back to her own first time, with Virgil. She remembered the confusion that followed from losing something that had almost come to define her, something she had guarded so much. The way the security of emotional intimacy had competed with her fear of loss of control. She knew, personally, the discomfort that sometimes came with closeness. But she also knew the good. She wanted to assure him that the things he cherished most about himself had not changed. That he was still intelligent and rational and driven. That he was still grounded, sound and moral. She wanted to let him know that it wasn't wrong to have need or to feel passion… or to be scared.

She wanted to ask him why he had that condom. But first things first.

"Sheldon," she began.

"Yes?" he said without turning around.

"I just want you know that…," she began. She stopped.

He turned to her, curious.

"Sheldon, you're safe here. _We're_ safe here."

The words were simple, but they were words she needed to say and that he probably needed to hear. His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, and then he took a deep breath and looked back ahead at the snowy vista. Wordlessly, she reached over and looped one finger through his, squeezing tightly. He took that finger and all the rest, and held her hand, squeezing back.

* * *

That snow-capped afternoon turned out to be the final entry of the first chapter of Amy and Sheldon's domestic interlude. The following day turned a page in their relationship. Amy, having never taught before and being expected to report to class that Monday, spent the entire weekend writing, revising, amending and _doubting_ her budding curriculum. When Monday hit, her schedule only became more intense with instructing new students, grading quizzes, and learning the ropes of a new research environment. Meanwhile, Sheldon's "midnight epiphany" was growing into an all-consuming foray into dark matter—the kind that makes a man not notice things like hunger, thirst or the passage of time. Two whiteboards appeared, pencils were grinded into oblivion, and minutes, hours and then _days_ went by with him in focused solitude, only breaking for meals and showers. Sometimes their physical demands would align at the same time, and he and Amy would manage to snag a Pop Tart together or share a delivered pizza. But as they became more drawn into their respective worlds, they began to drift apart.

Amy was the first to emerge from the abyss, and declared a state of emergency.

"Sheldon," she called out when she woke to a _third_ Saturday with nothing planned. She walked to his room and knocked on the door. "Sheldon?"

He opened it with the annoyance more appropriately shown to door-to-door salesmen. "Yes?" he said.

"Let's… _do_ something."

"The very fact that we're holding this conversation means we're _doing something_ , Amy. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," he said.

"Sheldon, we've become ships passing in the night. We should engage in some mutually enjoyable activity as a reprieve from the… grind of our lifestyles."

Sheldon reflected on this. "I don't know that I require a reprieve from anything. I've never been so singularly devoted to a task in my life," he said.

"And I don't believe that's healthy," she said.

"'Healthy' is such a vague aim. I heard the granddaughter of our 88-year-old, next-door neighbor saying he was the picture of health. Thusly, in comparison to him, I'm a virtual superman." He scoffed. "He looks like has one foot in the grave if you ask me."

"I'm referring to _mental_ health, Sheldon," Amy said, "and I suspect you already knew that."

"Fine," he relented. "What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of going shopping for bathing suits."

Sheldon just about collapsed. "Surely you jest."

"I do," she admitted, humorously. "But if we were to go bathing suit shopping, late March would be the perfect time to catch the sales."

"How about we watch Season Two of _Stargate Atlantis_ on Blue-ray?"

Amy shook her head. " _How about_ … we go rhubarb picking at Buckley's Farms?"

Sheldon paused. " _How about_ ," he counter-offered, "we have lunch at the farmer's market?"

Amy looked pensively. "How about we have lunch at Whole Foods and get dressed up?"

Sheldon was warming to the idea. "Can I make snide remarks at the hipsters discussing philosophy?" he asked.

"Of course," she said gleefully.

"And I can skip the tie?"

"The better to jeer with."

"Deal," he said. He and Amy shook hands.

"I'll meet you at the car at 11:45 sharp," she said and walked back to her room, shutting the door.

Well, the lunch date was going swimmingly. Amy chewed on a Caponata salad while Sheldon relished his Pork for the first time in a long time, they fell into easy conversation, including a rousing discussion on which synthetic material was better: rayon, polyester or nylon (the final verdict being they all suck, and organic fibers are biodegradable… _for the win_. They might have even high fived).

As they wrapped up their meals, Sheldon noticed that nearby at a table were several smartly-dressed grad students discussing… _drum roll_ … black holes. And _badly_. There was a twinkle in Sheldon's eye as he went to dump his plate, while making sure to make a detour towards the nascent scholars. He used the flimsiest of pretexts to barge into their conversation, and his delight in debunking their misconceptions on the space-time continuum bordered on the sadistic.

Before he and Amy left, she stopped to pick up a few things in the grocery: a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a bottle of bleach and some tampons. Walking past the "personal hygiene" products seemed like as good an opportunity as any to get something off of her mind.

"So, Sheldon," she said, "would I be overstepping my bounds to ask why you had a condom in your wallet?" She had a hunch Howard's name would soon be making an appearance.

Sheldon squirmed a little.

"My father gave me a box of them with the instruction to keep one in my wallet."

That was… surprising. Though Amy recognized the indelicate nature of her questioning, her curiosity got the better of her. "But your father has been…"

"Dead for eight years," Sheldon finished. "I know. He gave them to me when I went off to college, along with the admonition—and I quote—'Do me proud, boy. Don't rush things like I did. Not that I regret having y'all, but a man's gotta sow his wild oats, if you know what I mean.'" He paused. "I assure you that I did not."

"Weren't you _eleven_?"

"Oh, no," he clarified. "This was when I first came to Caltech."

Amy quickly did the math. That had been… eleven years before.

"You're kidding me?" she said.

He looked up perplexed. "Clearly I'm not. Why?"

"Because the integrity of the latex declines exponentially after its expiration date. And your wallet was a less-than-ideal storage facility at that."

But Sheldon had stopped listening. "Condoms have expiration dates?"he asked.

She nodded, not missing the wonder on his face.

"Fascinating," he whispered.

They soon found themselves at the cashier's check-out, and while waiting in line, all the disparate elements descended upon Amy and coalesced into a single, startling realization—

"What is it?" Sheldon asked. Amy's attention snapped to him.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. "What's _what?_ "

"I am, admittedly, a poor judge of facial expressions, but you appear to be alarmed." He squinted. "Or nauseated."

"I'm fine," she said, handing the cashier her credit card. Sheldon wilted.

"I really thought I had that one," he muttered.

When Amy got home, she threw her groceries in the fridge then rushed to her room and called Penny.

"Hey girl," Penny said cheerily. "Long time no hear. How've you been?"

"As well as I can be," Amy answered cryptically.

"Really? Because word on the street is that you're up there corrupting young boys and raising all sorts of hell," Penny teased.

"I am afraid my reputation has declined recently—an unfortunate bi-product of my current living arrangement."

"Yeah, well, welcome to my world," Penny said. "So, Amy… what can I do you for?"

"I have a question to ask you, but you must assure me you won't tell _anyone_."

"Lips sealed," Penny said. "So what's this ' _secret'?_ "

"Penny, you really can't tell anyone," Amy repeated.

"Got it," Penny whispered. "I haven't heard a thing. Now 'fess up."

"Once more," Amy reiterated, "you must promise me that this will not be repeated to anyone else under any circumstances."

There was a moment of silence. "Ahhh," Penny said, realization dawning on her. "You actually don't want me to tell _anyone?_ " It was like she was hearing Amy for the first time.

"Indeed, I don't," Amy said. "It is a matter of supreme secrecy."

Penny thought on this a moment. She relented. "Your secret is safe with me. I won't tell a living soul."

Amy waited.

"Or any dead one either."

"Good," Amy said, finally assured. "Now, that confidentiality has been established… what does it feel like when you think you're pregnant, but you actually aren't?"

"Um, I'm not even sure that made any sense," Penny said.

"Haven't you had a pregnancy scare or two in your life?"

"Um, well, yes, Amy, thanks for reminding me," Penny answered. "And, uh, sweetie, that confidentiality thing goes both ways."

"I assure you I am a locked safe. Not even Sheldon can pry these hallowed secrets from the depths of my bowels."

" _Riiight_ ," Penny said. "So what's your question again?"

"How does it feel when you think you're pregnant but you in reality are not?"

"Hold on," Penny said. "You _think_ you're pregnant?"

"Right," Amy said. "But I'm not."

"Why would you _think_ you're pregnant?" She gasped. "AMY FARRAH FOWLER!" she blurted. "YOU'RE PREGNANT?"

"I'm _not_ pregnant," Amy replied.

"Hold on that means…" Penny said, lost in thought.

Amy shook her head.

"Oh my frickin' pork chops—you had sex with SHELDON!" Penny blurted. She was literally yelling at this point.

"Please assure me you are by yourself," Amy pleaded.

"Yep," Penny said, only calming down slightly. "I'm in my trailer at the soap opera. The way this season is going, I could be rehearsing my lines."

"Or broadcasting my personal affairs," Amy muttered. But Penny's mind was stuck elsewhere.

"So you think there's a little Sheldon swimming in your belly?" she asked, her volume still uncomfortably high.

"Listen once more," Amy repeated, losing patience. "I _think_ I'm pregnant, but I am not."

"Um, sweetie," she said. "If you _think_ you're pregnant, it's because you probably are. Why do you think you're pregnant?"

"Because my menstruation has yet to begin despite it being five weeks since my last… menstruation."

"Hmm…late. Not good, honey," Penny replied.

"I'm not pregnant, Penny."

"How do you know?"

"Because I _can't_ be," Amy said.

"Oh sweetie," Penny sighed. "It's when you 'can't be' that you are the most. Trust me, my cousin Trudy has three kids that absolutely cannot exist."

Amy groaned.

"Fine," Penny ceded. "I'll answer your question. The time"—she cleared her throat—" _times_ I thought I might be pregnant, I felt bloated and I was late. Both times, I felt panicky and on edge because one of the guys I had slept with was unemployed—AKA, _broke_ —and the other one had a lazy eye, and that is _not_ cute."

"I feel bloated," Amy said, feeling better already. "And I'm late, and I _certainly_ feel panicky. Then I must _not_ be pregnant."

"Um," Penny said. "I'm no OB-GYN, but I don't think that is anything to go by."

Amy was feeling desperate; she started hyperventilating. "I'm having dizziness and shortness of breath; are those symptoms as well?"

Penny sighed. "First of all, Amy, take ten deep breaths and calm down."

But her spiral had already begun. "I think I'm going to faint."

"Look, Dr. Scientist. You have heard of a pregnancy test before, right?"

"Yes," Amy answered.

"Fine," Penny said calmly. "Go take a pee on that little stick, and all your questions will be answered."

Amy lied back on her bed, faded. _If only it were that simple._

* * *

She had seen enough movies to know that the bathroom scene happening around her was one of the most tired of clichés, and she was a little disappointed to find herself living in it. However, clichés became clichés for a reason, and apparently she was not impervious to the occasional moment of redundancy.

Amy had performed enough tests in her life to know that multiple trials produce the most conclusive results. She'd gone through each step of the Scientific Method like any scientist worth her salt should: she had posed a question, gathered information, formulated a hypothesis, collected and analyzed the data… and now she was at the point of drawing a conclusion.

She stared down again at the three instruments in her hand, the cold hard facts lying in front of her with startling clarity.

Two pink lines on every single one.

She was pregnant.

She leaned her head back against the wall, mentally surrendering to a fact she couldn't escape. A month ago, she had imagined she would greet this moment with unbridled joy, but now she looked back at that time with the biting sting of naïveté. Because back then, she never would have imagined that she would have had expired-condom sex with Sheldon just days after injecting herself with some Danish man's sperm.

Soon, it would come time for her to publish her results. She sat on the bathroom floor and waited for (dreading) Sheldon to come home.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon and Amy have visitors

Honestly… Amy had had every _agonizing_ intention of telling Sheldon about her pregnancy as soon as he got home that night from a local comic book swap meet. However, upon his return, he had regaled her with tales of the disappointment of the fledgling affair: a limited selection, redundant issues, novice amateurs, misinformed blowhards, and a lack of beverages for purchase were just a few of his myriad of complaints. About a half-hour into his ranting and raving, she figured he'd had enough excitement for one day.

She promised herself, the following evening, that she'd let him know and was making her way to his room when he suddenly emerged and made the grand pronouncement that he only had enough savings to keep him afloat for 146 more days. That was, of course, if he maintained his current standard of living. However, he explained, he could survive as many as 231 days if he lived more frugally. She had been shocked that he had so much saved up; he had been dismayed that he had so little to show for ten years of work. She decided to put off the news for another day.

On Day Four she was going to tell him but he woke up grumpy. On Day Seven she had her speech prepared but he was suffering from a toothache. On Day Eleven he was too hot, on Day Thirteen he was too cold; on Day Fifteen he was too young; on Day Nineteen he was too old.

Three weeks went by… and she still hadn't said anything.

* * *

On Day 23, Amy heard her ringtone blaring on the sink, and so took off her gloves and answered it. She looked at her phone and recognized the number as being from Los Angeles.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hello Amy." She knew that voice—it was Virgil. Hearing his voice again was almost… funny. "How are you?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Where are you?"

She didn't want to tell him her exact whereabouts. She thought of one of his rival restaurants in LA. "I'm having dinner at Icarus Parlor," she lied.

"Wow," he said, playfully. "You really know how to cut where it hurts."

"As do you," she replied.

"Touché," he replied playfully. "So… how far in are you?"

"I'm just now finishing up my appetizer," she answered.

"Excellent," he said. "I should be there in time for your entree."

"DON'T!" she blurted.

"Why? Why not?" he asked.

"Because if you do… I'll leave."

"Then I'm not coming," he said in a way that totally made it seem like he was still coming.

"Please don't come," she pleaded. There was silence a moment.

"You're with someone," he said; there was sadness in his voice.

"No I'm not," she said. But he wasn't buying it.

"You are."

"No. I swear to you I'm alone."

She could hear his wheels turning.

"Then don't you want a dinner companion?"

"If the kitchen discovers you've walked through the door, there's a considerable chance that they'll poison my food."

"Fine," he said, seeming to believe her. "I won't come. But I miss you."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well…"

"You're cold-blooded," Virgil said, a smile in his voice.

"Good night, Virgil," she said.

"Good night, Amy."

She stared at the phone a minute, and then went back to scrubbing the tub.

* * *

Sheldon walked into the living room bearing a can of soda and an accompanying glass of ice, and then placed them on the coffee table in front of Amy's mother. She looked at the gesture with confusion.

"Sheldon, I said I didn't want anything to drink."

"I'm aware of that," he replied, "but social protocol dictates that one give any guests visiting one's home a beverage upon their arrival. As you seem to be a in a state of emotional tranquility, I selected a cold one."

"I'm hardly a guest here," she replied. "I _am_ Amy's mother after all."

"And while that may be the case," he said, "it is my understanding that being a relation of the householder has no bearing whatsoever on whether or not a beverage should be served."

"Does social protocol say that you have to give me one even if I don't want it?"

Sheldon threw up his hands. "I assure that no one finds such arbitrary customs more baffling than I do, but I don't make the rules; I merely comply with them."

The older woman picked up the can, cracking the tab.

"So when did you say Amy would be coming home again?" she asked.

"I didn't," Sheldon answered. "You were the one that informed _me_ that she instructed you to meet her here."

"I know, but I thought you might know when she would be on her way."

Sheldon shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, and arguably better, as you have spoken to her more recently than I have."

This statement was followed by mutual sighs and an awkward silence; the only noise in the room was coming from the fizz in Mrs. Fowler's drink. She held the glass tumbler without taking a sip, saying nothing, her mind ticking. Someone else might have seen the building suspicion written on her face. Sheldon, however, did not.

"Do you like monkeys?" he asked cheerily.

"No," she answered.

"Of course you do," he insisted. "Everyone likes monkeys."

"Well, I don't."

"Your daughter does."

"I know that."

After the briefest pause, Sheldon pressed further. "I only ask because, if you _had_ liked monkeys, I was going to tell you a joke."

Amy's mother didn't respond, and her face grew even surlier.

"Oh what the hoo," he said finally, with a wave of his hand, "I'll tell you anyway. A man and his pet monkey walked into a bar—"

"What are you intentions towards my daughter?" she interrupted. Despite the accusation in her tone, she had a soft, slow manner of speaking—like some old, wealthy, eccentric woman in a horror film—that only made her words that much more intimidating.

Sheldon was appalled. "Surely you noticed that I was in the middle of telling a joke."

"She is a very special woman," her mother continued, "and I care for her very much."

"I agree that she is a very special woman, and I can't imagine that you—being her mother—would feel any other way. In fact, my own mother—"

"She also deserves a very special man in her life."

Sheldon thought on this. "If that is a none-too-subtle insinuation that I am _not_ special, I hasten to remind you that Amy finds me to be a _most_ enjoyable companion, and has welcomed me into her life, and home, without reservation. I would imagine that this fact would be ample proof—"

"She did the same with another young gentleman," she interrupted yet again, "only for it to end in heartbreak."

He scoffed at that. "If you are referring to Virgil, I hardly think he has left her in a state of heartbreak."

"Well he has, Sheldon," she insisted, her voice rising. "She's heartbroken. They both are. And I think that preying on her at this vulnerable time in her life is simply despicable."

"Pr—Preying on her?" Sheldon coughed. "With all due respect, Mrs. Fowler, she sought _me_ out. Besides, I would no more prey on anyone than—"

"Then I repeat: what your intentions towards my daughter?"

Sheldon was finding it hard to keep his cool, and his aggravation was mounting. "You have the very off-putting custom of interrupting me mid-sentence," he said.

"More importantly I have the custom of protecting my daughter."

"She requires no protection; least of all from me."

She had a horrible look on her face. "I haven't forgotten our first meeting, Sheldon; you were disrespectful to me and very vulgar."

He searched his memory. "You mean when we spoke on Skype?" She nodded. "Oh, please. That was merely a ruse to have you believe that we had engaged in coitus."

Amy's mother found this surprising. "You mean… you _hadn't?_ "

"Oh, Lord, no," Sheldon said.

"Well… why not?"

"Because that conversation occurred very early in our relationship. Almost immediately, we agreed never to engage in sexual behavior of any kind."

Her mother flared up at this news. "Well that's awful."

"Why?"

"Because my daughter is a grown woman with _needs_ , Sheldon, and many men would love to satisfy them. Don't you at least find her attractive?"

"Of course I do," he said offended. "She is the living, female embodiment of the mental ideal I find so attractive."

Mrs. Fowler recoiled at this. "So, you mean to tell me you only like her for her _mind?_ "

Sheldon shrugged. "Upon some reflection, I imagine I find her physically fetching as well."

That statement pushed her from her chair. "My daughter is a gem, Sheldon— _through and through_ —and she deserves to be _adored_. I will not sit back and watch her squander her time with a man who only seeks to embody, and likely toy with, the ideal of her 'mind, especially during this trying time."

"You have _severely_ distorted my words!" Sheldon yelled.

Just then, Amy walked through the door. Before she could even speak, she noticed the fiery glares and thick tension in the room.

"What's going on?" she asked. Without answering, Sheldon walked off, leaving Amy and her mother alone. "What's that about?"

"How would I know, dear?" Mrs. Fowler answered. She drew closer to Amy. "So, what did you find out?"

Amy gathered her thoughts and pulled out several papers from her purse. "I visited the office of your cell phone company and, apparently, they _did_ get your payment on the 15th, but your actual plan is different than what you told me it was. You do indeed have an unlimited data package, but your contract was only extended for one year, so you didn't get the first three months of data for free. However, if you go down there tomorrow, you can extend your contract an additional year and get the free three months of data, which you can cancel at anytime, or you can keep it as is. If you do decided to keep your contract at a year, you will probably want to cancel your data, but then you'll have to get a separate texting plan. The cheapest is 500 texts a month for an additional $5.99. You may also be eligible for a senior citizen discount, but you'll have to show your driver's license, passport or birth certificate in person. I spoke with Dale and you most likely should continue this matter with him, as he's already familiar with your case."

Her mother looked over the paperwork with fascination. "I don't know what I would do without your help," she said gratefully.

"No doubt pay too much for a service that you don't want," she answered.

Her mother nodded. "No doubt." She tucked the papers into her own purse that was on the couch. "So, I was under that impression that Sheldon was here visiting, but it appears that he lives here."

The observation made Amy a bit uncomfortable. "Turns out he loved Olympia," she said with a nervous chuckle.

"So, you all are _roommates?_ " her mother asked.

"That would be the simplest description," Amy replied.

"Well, what would be a _less_ simple description?"

Amy evaded the question. "Do you have a problem with him being here, Mother?"

"Well, if I'm being completely honest, it does bother me that you aren't settling down," she said. Amy sighed, frustrated—an action that her mother resented. "Well, I'm sorry that annoys you, dear, but, even though you are _currently_ in the prime of your life, it won't be that way forever."

"Good grief, Mother," Amy replied, "How many times are we going to have this conversation?"

"Until I'm sure you're happy."

"But I _am_ happy."

"You told me that you wanted children."

"I do."

"With your _roommate?_ "

Amy didn't answer, and her mother caught the look of displeasure on her daughter's face. "I'm sorry, Amy, for caring about you," she said.

"Is there a way for you to 'care' about me without making me feel like a ten-year-old girl?"

"Fine," he mother said, lifting her purse from the couch. "I'll let you get back to your evening. But I do want to leave you with this thought: Sheldon is _not_ the man." She leaned over and kissed Amy on the cheek. "Goodbye, dear," she said, and exited.

Amy plopped down on the couch, feeling awful. It was as if her mother only existed to turn up occasionally and make Amy feel like she wasn't good enough. She heard the vacuum cleaner running, and went to knock on Sheldon's door. It was already open.

"Sheldon!" she called. He didn't hear her. She called again, but again got no response. After a moment passed, he happened to turn around and discerned that she wanted his attention.

"Yes?" he asked, stopping the vacuum.

"What did you and my mother talk about before I arrived?"

Sheldon shook his head, fatigued. "I haven't the foggiest idea. Midway through my telling of an amusing yarn about a man and his monkey, she began to barrage me with accusations, and I never could ascertain the nature of her objections." He went to turn the vacuum back on but paused a moment. "Although I did manage to discern that she thinks we should be engaging in more coitus."

Over the whirl of the vacuum, Amy had a thought to herself: for once, she agreed with her mother.

* * *

On Day 27, Sheldon and Amy were having dinner together as he related how at the North Pole, he, Leonard, Raj and Howard had used snow to cool their equipment after it had reached dangerously high temperatures.

"Fascinating," Amy said, wistfully. "Unless I suddenly decide to study the brains of polar bears, Neurobiology yields very few opportunities for such adventure," she confessed.

"Yet another reason why Physics is the best science," he replied. She cut her eye at him. But he ignored her, his mind grinding elsewhere. "Speaking of extreme cold, whatever happened to the cryogenic thermos you had at the hotel?" Sheldon asked.

She was… stunned. Not only had the question come out of nowhere (well, okay it had come out of _somewhere_ , but it was still a stretch) but she hadn't even known he _knew_ about the thermos. He must have… stumbled upon while she was out of the room.

"I, mailed it back to the bank," she answered. And that was the truth.

"With the sperm and everything?" he asked.

Her heart skipped a beat. Despite having denied Sheldon information he would no doubt—ahem—like to have, she had never outright _lied_. All her sins had been sins of omission. But now she was at a crossroads; he had asked her a direct question that required a direct answer. She could tell him what she'd done, but… she wasn't ready with a response—not now, not _tonight_. But if she lied and the truth ever came out…

It was _unthinkable_.

Sheldon looked up from his food.

"And the _sperm_?" he repeated.

"You're asking about the sperm?" she asked.

Sheldon squinted at her, his puzzlement increasing. "Are you having a stroke, Amy?" he asked.

 _Yes._

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Sheldon, mercifully, rose to answer. In a scenario that was becoming a bit too routine, it was not who he had expected.

"What are you doing here?" the visitor asked.

"I live here," Sheldon answered. "The more _imperative_ question is, 'What are _you_ doing here?'"

Amy heard the muffled sounds of voices with curiosity.

"Who is it?" she called. When she got no answer, she walked out to the front and could barely believe her eyes. _"Virgil?"_

He perked up at the sight of her.

"Amy," he said smiling, "you look… _really_ good."

"How did you know I lived here?" she asked.

"Why does it matter?" he replied, ducking the question. "The important thing is that… I'm here."

She made a mental note to murder her mother.

He held up a ceramic dish. "I baked you this pie thinking we could share a couple slices, but I see you have company."

"I am not _company_ , Virgil," Sheldon corrected, "I repeat… I _live_ here."

Virgil nodded with waning cheer, and then looked at Amy.

" _Really_ , Amy? It's been... what? Two months? _Maybe_."

"Almost four," Amy replied; she found his presence—and the pie— _surprising_. "I'm… sorry, Virgil. I'm not trying to hurt you."

He pointed to Sheldon. "Is he the reason why you left?"

"No," Amy insisted adamantly. "I hadn't talked to him in years."

"Right," he replied, incredulous. "But the second we have an argument you run straight back to him?"

"Virgil we didn't have an argument," Amy replied frustrated. "We _broke up_."

Virgil chuckled a little and shook his head. "Don't you remember how he treated me? How he treated _you_? His arrogance, his condescension, his disdain for Greek cuisine?"

She looked at Sheldon, then back at her ex. "Things have changed, Virgil."

"Really? Because I've changed too." He boldly took a step closer; he was practically inside. "Amy, I flew here to tell you that I'm not ready to give up on us."

Amy buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God," she mumbled.

"That's it," Sheldon said. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

But Virgil was unmoved. "I'm not going anywhere until Amy looks me in the eyes and tells me she doesn't love me anymore."

Amy took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and looked Virgil square in the face.

"Virgil, I don't love you anymore."

He shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"Well you _have_ to believe it," Sheldon gloated. "Goodbye," he said and moved to shut the door, but Virgil pushed it open with his hand.

"No, I don't. And I _won't_."

" _Please,_ believe it," Amy pleaded.

"Why?" he demanded. "Tell me _one_ good reason why."

She looked at Sheldon and then back at Virgil.

"Because I'm pregnant."

Both men fell silent, gob smacked. If Sheldon looked shocked, Virgil looked like the wind had been sucked from his lungs. He was gasping for air.

"What?" he panted.

Amy looked down uncomfortably. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

But Virgil was… he was spinning. "Wow…wow… wow," he chanted.

Amy felt defensive. "You didn't love me enough, Virgil. Not enough to give me what I wanted."

"And he does?" he replied.

She didn't say anything.

"You really mean to tell me that you're having a child by this… this… _freak_ of nature?"

Sheldon was fed-up. "You must _go_. I've tolerated your insults for long enough. And, be warned, I am not above enlisting the assistance of law enforcement."

The mention of the police reminded Amy of the last time they were all together. It was a night she didn't want to relive. But, fortunately, she wouldn't have to.

"Fine, then, I'm leaving," Virgil said. "I've been thrown out of better places than this." He shoved the pie into her hand, and then turned to leave. Amy called after him.

"Virgil, I'm so sorry that it had to end this way."

He turned around, nodding. "I'm sorry, too." He kept walking.

Sheldon, however, was _elated_ to see him go. "Have a safe trip home," he chirped.

"Fuck you, Sheldon," he said, then got in his car and left.

When he was out of sight, Sheldon walked back to the living room, shaking his head.

"That was rude," he said. Then, he then picked up his laptop, balancing it in one hand while fiddling with the TV remote with his other. While Amy was perilously close to having a cardiac incident, he didn't seem the least bit concerned by what had just transpired. After a few moments he spoke.

"Honestly, Amy," he said. "I am considering sending a very strongly-worded letter to the Samsung Corporation. While the picture resolution, color trueness and sound of this television is stellar, the feature that allegedly syncs it with my laptop is entirely too unpredictable."

Amy walked over and took the remote from his hands. She pushed one button. After a momentary blink, his laptop and the TV suddenly displayed the same image.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"Hit reset," she said simply. "If you don't sync them in the correct order, the signals get lost."

Sheldon looked down at the keyboard and began to type idly, annoyed with himself. "That's what I was going to do next," he moped.

But Amy was more concerned about what Sheldon was thinking about this whole… this insane and scandalous development.

"So," she asked, gaining some courage, "you… aren't mad?"

"Mad, no," he answered. "Suffering from a bit of bruised ego… yes."

"But please rest assured that I am fully prepared to take your side in whatever conflict ensues from this."

"Oh, I never doubt your loyalty," Sheldon said.

Amy smiled, reassured. "I'm… really glad to hear that, especially in light of what just happened."

"Well, rest easy," he said. "Although, frankly, I highly doubt I will need your assistance."

"You may," Amy said. "I know Virgil and he is very passionate and determined. It's how he's been so successful in the culinary world."

Sheldon looked at Amy, absolutely confounded.

"Why would Virgil be involved in my complaint against the Samsung Cooperation?"

"I'm not referring to the complaint, Sheldon," she said, confused. "I'm referring to what just happened at the door." She paused. "What are you talking about?"

"My complaint against the Samsung Corporation," Sheldon repeated.

"Sheldon, but what about Virgil?" Amy asked.

Sheldon scoffed. "His behavior this evening only served to confirm my previous ill-opinion of him. He is absolutely irrational with a complete lack of propriety and I can only hope he never darkens our door again." He snorted. " _Greek_ cuisine." He paused then thought of something. "And your assertion that you are expecting was an inspired detail. Well played."

Amy's heart skipped a beat. He… hadn't believed her. She steadied her nerves and took a deep breath.

"There's… something I should tell you Sheldon," she said.

He continued fiddling with his laptop, unresponsive. After a moment, he spoke. "Then by all means tell me," he said impatiently.

"But I would like the benefit of your full attention."

Sheldon wilted some. "Very well then." He placed his laptop on the table and turned to her. "What is it that you need to tell me?"

And here it was… the moment she had been dreading. She…

Didn't say anything.

"Well, for it to be a matter of such—what one can only assume to be— _importance_ , you remain bafflingly silent on the issue."

She looked at him with wide eyes. How would she ever be able to tell him about what happened that last night in Pasadena, the desperate decision she'd made, the basal temperatures, the late ovulation, the pregnancy test… her deceit. She resolved to be eloquent and calm and not lose control of the conversation. She took a hard breath.

"Well?" Sheldon goaded.

"I'M PREGNANT!" she squeaked, and threw her hand over her mouth.

Sheldon stared at her, still and silent and stunned—not even blinking or taking a breath. His face was inscrutable. She probably looked very much the same way.

"I wanted to tell you but—"

And then he hugged her.

It was the reaction she had _least_ expected and, taken with an impossible mix of emotions, she weakly hugged him back.

"Amy," he whispered. He looked down at her, his eyes beaming with joy. "It never crossed my mind that you were… telling the truth."

That phrasing was particularly biting. "I… uh… ah," she stammered. "There's something else…" she whispered. But he wasn't listening.

"I can't believe this," he said smiling, and then pulled away and began pacing. "There is so much to be done, to be considered, to be researched and properly amended for the extraordinary offspring we most likely—no, _undoubtedly_ —have conceived." He turned to Amy. "This is astonishing; this is magnificent; this has implications beyond what the two of could imagine. A _child_." He was lost in blissful reverie as Amy watched on. He ran to his laptop and began typing furiously with an unwavering gaze. After a moment, he looked back up. "Well, don't just stand there, lady," Sheldon said. "Grab your computer and a non-alcoholic beverage—The Gestation Project has begun."

Amy, stumbling off, did as she was told.

"Oh," Sheldon added. "And bring back a knife and couple of forks and plates. That pie looks delicious."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gestation Project begins.

Amy was in her room preparing for another sleepless night. Her partial confession to Sheldon a couple of nights prior had gone incredibly well—beyond her wildest dreams. But in short order, her wildest nightmares had begun to descend in battalions. She lived every day waiting for the other shoe to drop, and from the way things looked, it was going to be earth shattering. Fortunately, she had convinced him to keep her pregnancy under wraps through the first trimester, in case the unspeakable happened. The plan had also bought her a little more time.

She was _dealing_ with the mound of laundry on her bed when Sheldon stopped just outside. She heard movement and glanced up, just barely being able to see him peering at her through the sliver of the open door.

"You can come in, Sheldon," she said.

He opened the door until she could see his entire body, but didn't come in. "I have a, ahem, proposal to make. That is, if you'd be willing to hear it."

"Proceed," she said, separating colored socks from white ones.

"Would you be opposed to reinstating our previous sleeping arrangement?"

She gave him a fleeting look, and then went back to folding.

"But, Sheldon, you didn't like how congested we were, remember?"

He stepped forward. "Which is why I propose that we transfer our nighttime slumber to _my_ bed—which enjoys the advantage a queen-sized mattress."

Amy shrugged. "In answer to your question, I am not opposed, although I am unsure of what has brought about this change."

He drew closer. She looked up and he was right next to her. She started a little. He was speaking more softly. "Amy, as you are now… with child, I… I worry."

"Worry?" Amy repeated.

"I would sleep better… I would _prefer_ if… I could see you."

She could see in his eyes that he was serious; he was concerned.

"Yes," she nodded. "That's fine. I'll be in as soon as these clothes are put up." He smiled a little, nodded and retired to his room.

* * *

Amy glanced at her watch. She had to be to work in 16 minutes and wasn't even _close_ to being ready. In fact, she was in the bathroom, prostrate over the toilet, vomiting.

As she had exceeded the bathroom time that had been appropriated for her in the morning, Sheldon was soon knocking on the door.

 _Knock, knock, knock._ "Amy." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Amy." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Amy."

She went to answer, but hurled violently into the commode.

"Amy?" Sheldon called.

"Come in," she rasped. Her stomach acids had wreaked havoc on her voice. There was a long wait before Sheldon came in. His shirt was covering his nose.

"Are you ill?" he asked, muffled.

"I'm _pregnant_ ," she answered. And immediately resumed vomiting. She had purged so much that, in another minute, she would be dry hurling.

"And pregnancy precipitates this?" he asked.

"It's called morning sickness," Amy explained. She was really too tired to answer questions. Oh, and she was definitely calling in sick to work.

"But according to the literature I've read, that shouldn't begin until the beginning of the second trimester."

"It can start anytime after eight weeks," Amy explained.

He sighed. "Well, this is a very messy business," he lamented.

"Well, vomiting usually is," Amy replied.

"No, I'm referring to the timelines. Different experts place different events at different intervals, making efforts at preparedness and appropriate response a mystifying game of chance."

Amy was going to say that the hormones that regulated pregnancy were secreted principally by the placenta once the pregnancy began, and that those hormonal levels could vary significantly from one woman to another based on her age, habits, genetics, past pregnancies and other factors.

Instead, she just threw up.

And Sheldon vanished. So now, instead of just being nauseated, she was also homicidal.

A moment later he returned. He was wearing a paper mask and latex gloves. He also was holding a flower hair tie. He lowered himself beside her and then gently pulled her hair back and secured it with the bow. Then, he held up a bottle of Gatorade.

"You should drink this after a while," he said. "Vomiting depletes the body of vital minerals and electrolytes and, as the body gives precedence to the fetus, you will suffer even more than usual."

Amy looked at the bottle, then up and Sheldon and started to cry.

"Why are you crying?" he asked.

"Because I feel happy," Amy blubbered. _And guilty.em >_

_"Those must be the hormones I keep reading about," he muttered._

_She just threw up again._

* * *

Amy had felt odd at first, coming to Sheldon's bed again, especially in light of their last night together. For her, it had been splendid, but the memory was tainted by his discomfort and distance in the following days. She was just now getting back to the point when she could think on that night without feeling a twinge of sadness.

_But now, here they were, back together again. By the third night, it was if they had never even been apart. To his credit, Sheldon was even cooler about the whole thing than she was._

_"Amy," he said, falling into his nighttime chatter that she hadn't even realized she had missed._

_"Yes," she answered._

_"What does it… feel like to be… pregnant?"_

_"It feels…" Well, it felt like she being bloated and nauseous and pricked and poked and prodded. But it also felt like… "It feels like you are doing something incredibly normal and pedestrian and yet so transcendental and extraordinary. It feels like your body, the body you've always had, is suddenly an implement of life and of good. It feels so amazing that you are almost afraid to be excited because disappointment would hurt too much. It feels like a miracle—even when you don't believe in that sort of thing."_

_Sheldon stared at her wide-eyed. "Amy?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Can I… can I touch your stomach?"_

_She thought a moment. "I'm afraid there's not much to feel; I'm not showing yet," she said._

_"I know," he replied. "But… I would still like to."_

_She smiled a little, nodded and then sat up some, and he did too. Giving him one final glance, she slowly lifted up her shirt, revealing her bare belly. Bit by bit, he brought his hand to her abdomen finally placing it just above her navel. His hand was warm, and his touch very tender._

_He stared at his hand a long while, then looked up at Amy. "There's a baby in there," he whispered, sounding hopelessly full of wonder and innocence and awe and joy. Amy felt like her heart might explode, and if given the chance, she would have sworn on a million Bibles that she was experiencing the most magical moment of her entire life._

_She decided then and there: she wouldn't tell him._

* * *

**Over a month later.**

_Sheldon awoke to the distinct sound of crying. He turned over and found Amy with her back to him._

_"Amy, is that you?" Sheldon asked._

_"Of course it is," she answered. "Who else would be in bed with you?"_

_"No," he said. "I mean is that you _crying_?"_

She didn't answer at first then—through sniffles—she said, "Yes."

"And may I ask why?"

Another pause.

"It's stupid."

Sheldon took issue with that. "Considering your IQ, general mental and emotional soundness, and current state of pregnancy—however _bizarre_ the reason for your tears—I seriously doubt it's a stupid one."

She turned over in bed, finally facing him. "Well… I want some fried pickles," she said, wiping her nose with a tissue.

"And why does make you cry?" he said, bewildered.

"Because how am I going to get fried pickles in the middle of the night?"

Sheldon thought on this conundrum a minute. "I would imagine you couldn't. Perhaps it would be best if you waited until morning."

Amy resumed weeping, louder than before. "But I want some _right now_!" she wailed and turned back over in bed.

"Oh dear," he said, surprised at her desperation.

"I told you it was stupid," she added.

"Now, now," Sheldon said, trying to be encouraging. "That's not stupid. I come from a state where there scarcely exists a food—meat, vegetable or otherwise—that hasn't been soaked in buttermilk, dredged in seasoned flour and deep-fried into oblivion."

Amy cheered up some and turned back towards him. "So you know how to make fried pickles?" she said.

"Of course not. While my _theoretical_ culinary knowledge is extensive, unless a food can be prepared in a waffle iron, my practical knowledge is very limited."

Amy shook her head. "I go from one extreme to the other," she muttered. She did a weird smile-frown than blew her nose. "Thanks anyway," she said and rolled back over in bed.

Then, she resumed crying.

Sheldon watched her helplessly, then had an idea. He got out of bed, dressed hastily and put on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Amy asked.

"I'll be right back," he said and left.

He walked down the street and past a couple homes, careful not to fall, as there were no sidewalks in this particular area. Then he walked up to a door.

 _Knock, knock, knock._ "Neighbor." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Neighbor." _Knock, knock, knock._ "Neighbor."

The door swung open and behind it stood a robed, middle-aged woman with bleary eyes and disheveled hair.

"Huh?" she said, utterly confused.

Sheldon held up $50 in one hand and a jar of sliced pickles in the other. "I would like to ask you for a favor."

A half hour later, Amy looked up to the sound of Sheldon coming through the bedroom door. He was bearing a lidded, plastic container.

"Here," he said. He handed the container to Amy, undressed, and hopped back into bed. When Amy opened it, sitting on paper towels was a heaping mound of hot, fried, pickle chips. Her face lit up brightly.

"Where'd you get these from?" she beamed.

"I recalled that the woman down the street had a car with South Carolina plates. They know how to fry a thing or two down there as well."

Amy pulled out a plastic baggie that contained $50. "Why is there cash in here?"

Sheldon turned over. "I guess she didn't take the money," he answered, then lied back down. "But we do have to return the Tupperware."

Overcome, she grabbed Sheldon's hand. "Thank you Sheldon," she said. He looked back at her with a tender smile.

"You're welcome, Amy."

With that, she hopped out of bed and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the kitchen to eat them," she answered. "I'm pregnant, not a pig." She exited through the door, and the wonderful scent of the fried pickles left the room with her.

Sheldon lay in bed a moment, mentally wrangling with himself. "Oh, what the heck," he said. He sat up, slipped on his slippers and followed her to the kitchen. He hadn't had fried pickles himself in quite a while, and she could probably use the company.

* * *

Amy and Sheldon were sitting on the back porch, in the middle of the afternoon, staring out through a wooded clearing at the lake behind their house.

"Or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea," Sheldon recited, "…You're off to Great Places!/Today is your day!/Your mountain is waiting./So... get on your way!"

Amy smiled widely. "I'm impressed that so many years later you can recall the entirety of that Dr. Seuss book."

"Eidetic memory," Sheldon explained. He turned to her. "As a child, I found juvenile literature to be trite and odious, but now, through adult eyes, I find it to be rather charming and endearing."

"I read precious little fiction as a child." Amy admitted. "While my classmates were taken with the tales of the Babysitter's Club and the teenagers of Sweet Valley High, I was lost in the pages of _The Cognitive Neuropsychology of Schizophrenia_ by Christopher Frith."

Sheldon nodded in agreement. "Despite my efforts to restrict my reading material to the likes of Richard Feynman and other Nobel laureates, my mother insisted that I also read children's literature, so I'd," he imitated her voice, "'have something to talk about with the neighbor kids.'"

Amy and Sheldon looked at each other with knowing looks.

"You really miss your mother, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded once, as if it would hurt him to nod more.

"Do you think she'll ever forgive us?" Amy asked.

He thought a moment. "She likely already has." Then he sat up, and looked at her purposefully. "I would like to let her know we're expecting."

Sometimes Amy forgot that the life she was living wasn't real. The current of their daily routine floated along so smoothly, it was hard to remember that there were rocks beneath the water. But whenever he used words like "we," she felt the prick of a hot iron, and she remembered. She was already a week into her second trimester, and Sheldon had kept his promise to remain silent. However, he was losing patience. She knew she couldn't keep it a secret forever, but she still wasn't quite ready to perform her charade to the world at large.

"Let's just wait a couple more days," she said, "until after we get the test results."

Sheldon nodded, and then took a sip from his tea.

She sighed with relief.

* * *

Amy and Sheldon, slowly but surely, were checking off pregnancy milestones: they'd already gotten their due date (November 20); they'd already chosen the hospital (Olympia County); and they'd already had their twelve-week check-up. Today's appointment was a follow up to that visit. Amy had requested a triple screen test—which Sheldon had been ambivalent about, but had no objections to—and today they would get the results on this visit.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Sheldon go to the doctor.

Amy entered the doctor's office and Sheldon trailed behind her, his hand hovering behind her back. He had taken on all duties of an expectant father with dedication and aplomb. And accompanying her on her trips to the OB-GYN was one of his duties.

She ran through her normal procedure of redundant checking and annoying small talk, while Sheldon and Amy waited for the real news.

"And now for the reason for this appointment: I got the results back to the triple screen," she said, as she placed her stethoscope around her neck. Amy didn't like the sound of her voice. It was clinical and professional. She turned to look at Sheldon but he was busy staring at a diagram on the wall.

"By triple screen," he said, without turning around, "you are referring to the test that measures the amount of alpha-fetoprotein in the blood of a pregnant female?"

"Yes," the doctor said, turning towards him, "in addition to the levels of estriol, and beta-hCG—hence the name triple screen. And Dr. Cooper," she added, "you may want to pay attention for this." With that, Sheldon turned around, and Amy didn't miss the sudden look of anticipation on his face. "Upon review of the results," the doctor began, and turned to Amy, "your estriol and beta-hCG levels came back completely normal. However, your alpha-fetoprotein, or AFP, levels came back a little high."

Amy could feel her heart rate pick up a little.

"Meaning?" Sheldon said. There was a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

" _Meaning_ that there is a chance—just a _chance_ —that the fetus could potentially be suffering from a neural tube defect."

Sheldon's face grew grave.

"There is nothing to be afraid of just yet," the doctor assured them, "there is still—"

"And what exactly is a 'neural tube defect'?" he interrupted.

Amy answered, her voice wavering a little. "It's a birth defect of the brain and spinal cord. The two most common neural tube defects are spina bifida and anencephaly."

The doctor nodded. "She's correct. In the case of spina bifida, the fetus may be born with some reduced mobility or paralysis. In anencephaly," —Amy placed her hands over her mouth when she really wanted to put them over her ears— "the pregnancy would most likely end… unfortunately."

Sheldon backed away a little, visibly irate. "And what would be the cause of this?" he asked.

The doctor tried to explain. "Well, while medical researchers don't know everything—"

"Damn near nothing," Sheldon muttered.

"Sheldon!" Amy said.

The doctor tried again. "These neural tube defects are thought largely to be a result of a folic acid deficiency prior to and during pregnancy."

"But I've been taking folic acid supplements," Amy said.

"She has," Sheldon confirmed. "It's in The Pregnancy Agreement."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said. "The Pregnancy Agreement?"

Amy took this one; Sheldon nodded proudly she spoke. "It's an adjudicated pact outlining the expectations, rights and responsibilities of myself, as the mother, and Sheldon, as the father, of the unborn child. It also includes an appendix that details recommended courses of action in the areas of diet, exercise, stress management and emergency care."

The doctor gave them a look that said "bizarro."

"We've found it's made this entire experience go much smoother," Sheldon added.

"Very well then," the doctor continued, "considering that folic acid intake is in 'The Pregnancy Pact'—"

"Pregnancy _Agreement_ ," Amy corrected.

"Okay—Pregnancy _Agreement_ ," the doctor said, "then the source is most likely genetic."

"Preposterous," Sheldon muttered.

"What was that?" the doctor asked.

"I said that this is _not possible_ , as neither spina bifida nor any other 'neural tube defects' run in either of our families."

"That you know of," the doctor replied. "Due to the morbidity and mortality rates associated with these particular maladies, family members afflicted with them are often hidden or unknown." She waved her hand, and took on a pleasant tone. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Again, there is no need to get anxious just yet. These tests have a five-percent false positive rate and the results could change. But I would recommend, Dr. Fowler, that you take a second test. Additionally, I would like a full medical history for the both of you to help us think about how and if we should proceed with the pregnancy."

 _If?_

The word fell harsh and discordant on Amy's ears. She turned to Sheldon; he snatched his coat raced out of the room.

"While I know this is hard for the both of you, do what you can to encourage him to calm down," the doctor said. "Please meet with the receptionist so she can arrange an appointment with the phlebotomist." Amy nodded, but she had an even more pressing matter to attend to.

"Before I go," she asked, "may I have a moment with you?"

The doctor nodded. "Sure."

"I have a… _confession_ to make," she began. Each word felt like it was slicing her throat as it came out. "Sheldon… may not be the biological father."

The doctor nodded, maintaining a professional stance.

"It's not how it looks," Amy added quickly.

"I'm a physician," the doctor said, "not a judge. Do you have access to the other potential father's medical records?"

Amy nodded.

"Then make sure I have those before your next visit."

Amy nodded, then prepared to leave.

"Dr. Fowler," the doctor called. "Were you aware that you can get a paternity test _before_ the baby is born?"

Amy shook her head.

"While you are still pregnant," she explained, "there is a procedure that can test the fetal DNA taken from the mother's plasma and thus determine paternity. We can have the test done from the same blood as your AFP test. However, you must give the lab a genetic sample from the father(s), such as a hairbrush."

This was good news.

"Does Sheldon have to know?" Amy asked.

The doctor shook her head. "Until birth, you legally have sole rights over the fetus. However," she said, "I will advise you that, from my professional experience, deception is risky."

"I know," Amy agreed. "But, I don't want to hurt him."

The doctor didn't comment. "I'll see you soon Dr. Fowler," she said, and walked out.

* * *

The ride home was considerably more hostile than the way there. Whatever scant self-restraint Sheldon had shown in the doctor's office was now exploding at full tilt.

"Did you hear that malarkey!" he yelled. "She would dare question _your_ diet as if we were some teen parents from Appalachia, subsisting on a diet on Red Vines, Coca-Cola and crystal meth."

"I'm sure she didn't mean any harm," Amy said.

"Of course she did," Sheldon exclaimed. "She made the clear insinuation that we should actually consider _murdering_ our own child! The notion makes me want to vomit." He whipped out his phone, apparently arming himself with more ammo. He read aloud. "A neural tube defect is an opening in the spinal cord or brain that occurs very early in human development. In the second week of pregnancy, called gastrulation, specialized cells on the dorsal side—"

"Do you have to read that, Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"Of course, I do," he barked back. "Knowledge is power, young lady, and we have no choice but to put ourselves in the power position, lest we be manipulated by a cult of fear."

"She told me that I should tell you to calm down," she said, desperate and spinning.

"Calm down, she says," Sheldon repeated. "She wants me to calm down, does she? Well, do you or do you not understand, Amy, that we are in the _rocky shores_ of medical warfare, a battle of the misguided pseudoscience of medical 'screens' with unpardonably high percentages of error designed to prey on the fear of expectant parents, and—"

Amy couldn't hear him. It was too much; it was too, _too_ much.

Scattered throughout his livid speech, he was firing off words like "our" and "we" and "us" in such rapid succession, at such a deafening volume and about something _so painful_ that Amy could feel herself descending into a panic attack. She was _literally_ suffocating and pulled over to the side of the road, then rolled down the windows.

"Are you alright?" Sheldon asked, almost as a footnote. He seemed too enraged to even care properly.

"I need… I need air," she said and got out of the car, taking labored breaths while leaning against the side of the car. Sheldon got out and stood in front of her as cars whizzed by.

"Should I call a…," he spat the last word, " _doctor_?"

She shook her head and handed him the keys. "You have to drive home."

He was horrified. "You know I don't drive, Amy."

"Do you…"— _gasp_ —"do you have a license?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded plainly.

"Then you have to," she said, "I can't." She stumbled over to the passenger's seat and climbed in, then leaned her head against the dash board. After several dumbstruck moments, Sheldon got in the driver's seat. He buckled his seatbelt, turned on the ignition, checked his mirrors and held the steering wheel tightly.

"This is the worst day ever," he said and pulled off.

* * *

When they got home (forty-five harrowing minutes later) Sheldon jumped out of the car and charged for the door. Amy, still collecting herself, sat in the car, regrouping. Then something crossed her mind.

She called Penny. After several rings, Penny answered.

"Hello?" she said. At the sound of her voice, Amy began sobbing uncontrollably. "Who is this?" Penny asked bewildered, but Amy's sobs just kept coming. "Is this Amy?" she asked. She just managed to make out a "yes." After several more moments of sobbing, Penny gave up trying to have a conversation and just waited. "Let it out, sweetie. Just let it out."

The admonition has the odd effect of abating Amy's tears.

"Really?" she said. "Let it out? That is your response to someone who calls you weeping? What would you tell a drowning person to do? Keep breathing?"

Penny stared at the phone, bewildered, then brought it back to her ear. "What is going on Amy?"

"You must promise me that I have your confidence," Amy said, her voice still weak and broken from her crying.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Penny said.

"You must promise me—" Amy began, but Penny cut her off.

"Look, Amy," she said. "Either you trust me or you don't. So which is it?"

Amy decided she did. "I'm… pregnant."

Beat.

Penny squealed so loud that Amy could have sworn that she would have heard it with or without the phone.

"Congratulations, sweetie," she cried. "Why is that a secret?"

Amy started crying again. "Because I don't know who the father is."

Penny found that near impossible. "Have you, slept with anyone else?" she asked, almost laughing.

Amy shook her head. "No."

"Then, Sheldon's the father, Amy. Who else would it be?"

"A marathon-running draftsman from Copenhagen."

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, Amy thought she'd lost the call.

"What's that?" Penny finally replied.

"Leonard didn't tell you?" Amy asked. She blew her nose loudly. "About the sperm bank?"

"Sp—sperm bank?" Penny sputtered. "Amy what are you talking about?"

Amy took a deep breath, and then exploded, not even stopping for air. "The original reason I came to Pasadena was to find a sperm donor after Virgil and I broke up because he didn't want children, but when Sheldon found out I was 'going fatherless,' he offered to be the donor for my child, but when the time came he chickened out, so I used the specimen I had bought, since I thought I ovulated the next day and was never going to get another chance, but he came back the next morning and begged to go with me to Washington, and it turns out I ovulated later than I thought, and Mrs. Cooper came and got in a big fight with Sheldon, and he was depressed, so one thing led to another and we engaged in coitus, then I found out I was pregnant and I was going to tell him but I was too scared until Virgil showed up and then I blurted out the news, so Sheldon found out, but not about the donor, but he was so happy I couldn't bring myself to tell him, only to learn the baby might have a defect, which made Sheldon angry, and I'm not sure if the genes come from him, or me or the Danish donor and I don't know what to do!"

"Wow, that is," Penny cleared her throat, "some story."

"I'm the whore my mother always feared I would be!" Amy blurted, and resumed sobbing.

"Amy, Amy, Amy," Penny called soothingly, "you're not a whore. Trust me. I know whores. A lot of 'em."

"Then why is this happening to me?"

"Because you always over-think things. Listen, back in Nebraska when some chick wants a baby, she goes to whichever one of their girlfriends has the hottest brother, asks her if he's into anything freaky or has any _weird_ diseases, and if she says no, the girl goes to his next big party wearing her sluttiest outfit and gets totally plastered. She and the guy go home together, one thing leads to another—BOOM!—nine months later you have the cutest baby on the block and—better than your little plan—KA-CHING!—you're getting a child support check. It's fool proof."

This mad cap scheme managed to suspend Amy's crying. "What about the possibility of contracting a venereal disease?"

"That's why I said you have to ask if he's into anything freaky," Penny explained. She sighed. "Okay, I admit there's a _teensy, weensy_ amount of risk involved, but, hey… no guts no glory."

"Penny?" Amy said.

"Yeah," she said.

"What should _I_ do?"

Penny took a hard breath. "Sweetie, you gotta tell Sheldon."

"I can't do that," she said.

"But, honey, you have to."

"Or, or, or," Amy replied rallying; her wheels were turning. "I could also contact the sperm bank, ask that they send the medical records directly to the gynecologist, wait for the paternity test, find out if he's the father and, if he is (because he _has_ to be), he'll never know."

"And what if he isn't?" Penny asked.

Amy didn't have a response to that.

" _Yeeeeah_ ," Penny repeated, "you have to tell him."

"Why?" Amy whined.

"Because it's not fair. He needs to know what he's dealing with. And he needs to hear that from you _now_ instead of years from now when the kid's grown and wants to get back at you on some sleazy daytime talk show."

"But, he might get mad."

"He might get a little mad, sweetie, but he can't stay mad forever."

"You don't know Sheldon."

"Listen, Amy… do you love him?"

She'd never said it out loud. "Yes."

"And he loves you, right?"

Silence.

"Don't you believe Sheldon loves you?"

"I don't know," Amy said. "He's never said it."

"Oh, sweetie, poor thing." Penny's heart broke a little. "I'm sure he does. He just has trouble verbalizing his emotions."

Amy didn't say anything for a long time.

"Am I crazy, Penny? Is this whole thing insane?"

Penny wanted to say yes. She wanted to say that Amy's situation—with unknown fathers and sperm banks and secrets and attempting a relationship with, ugh, _Sheldon_ —was pure insanity. Except that… Penny knew what it was like to find yourself in an "insane" situation. She knew how it felt to be so confused by your own life that you didn't know what to do. She had done many crazy, _crazy_ things because she was crazy about a boy. And…

She even knew what it was like to be in love with a nerd.

"You can't tell your heart who to love," she said at last. "If we could, we'd all be dating those straight-laced, stable, church boys our mothers always pick out for us. But… when you really love somebody, you have to tell them the truth, Amy—no matter what."

"I'm afraid I might lose him," Amy replied softly.

"If you can't be honest with him," Penny said, "you never had him anyway."

She could hear Amy sniffling on the other line.

"Penny," she said. "I envy your ability to have lived so long with the constant influx of different sexual partners—and the emotional insecurity that such a lifestyle entails—and still emerge psychologically unscathed and emotionally available for Leonard."

Penny sighed. "Gee, Amy… thanks," she replied sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Amy said. "And also… thank you for being my friend."

Penny smiled at that. "Anytime."

* * *

Bedtime could not come soon enough, and with it, silence. Sheldon's unbridled anger had filtered into the very fabric of everything around them, and Amy had spent the rest of the day walking on eggshells. Sleep would be a reprieve from the agony of it all.

As for Sheldon, there was no nighttime chatter, not this night. If there was any remaining doubt about his disposition, he got into bed roughly, snatching up the cover around him and diving into the pillow. He didn't even say good night.

Amy turned over and tried to go to sleep.

* * *

Cindy returned from lunch to find her inbox had been flooded with messages—e-mails from clients, _prospective_ clients, donors and colleagues were all fighting for her attention. However, one e-mail stood out from the rest.

"Hello Cindy," it began. "I hope that all has been well with you. According to your website, your clients can request a medical history for their respective sperm donors. I am requesting that one be over-nighted to my gynecologist's office here in Olympia, Washington at 6589 Hollow Street. Any shipping costs can be charged to my credit card on file. Regards, Amy Farrah Fowler."

Cindy hit reply.

"Hello Amy," she typed. "Can I assume this means that you're pregnant? If so, congratulations. I will FedEx out the records this afternoon. Feel free to call me next time, OK? Sincerely, Cindy."

Cindy searched through her records and located Amy's donor number. As she went through her file, however, she realized that Amy's case was not complete. She sighed. She didn't have time to handle this all the way through; she would have to delegate it to her secretary. She hit print and walked outside.

However, the secretary was not there. She grabbed a piece of paper and left Rachel a note.

"Hello Rachel," she wrote. "Can you do me a favor and send this record out to the office at the address attached? Then, close out this case. Thanks!"

With that, Cindy returned to her office. She had to prepare for a meeting with a client in 15 minutes.

* * *

Amy had suffered through another fitful day, but with each passing hour she felt number and number, and fought to convince herself that that was good enough. She got home and found Sheldon sitting on the couch reading a book on birth defects. His obsession with the topic seemed to stem from some masochistic urge that only made Amy feel more desperate.

He looked up when she put her purse on the couch.

"Did you know that the word myelomeningocele—the clinical term for spina bifida—comes from a combination of the Greek roots _myelos_ and _menix_ —which together mean membrane—and _kele_ meaning hernia?" Sheldon, apparently, thought this fact was a suitable substitute for saying hello, but Amy saw it as the greeting from Hades—the Greek word for Hell.

"How does sushi sound?" she asked.

"Horrible," he said without looking up from his book. "The relatively high mercury levels in fish make it an unsuitable food for a pregnant woman."

"Then what do you want to eat?" she asked, too tired to even have an opinion.

He looked up. "I'm not hungry."

And on second thought, neither was she. He returned to his reading, and she walked back to her room to change clothes.

* * *

Nighttime was harder. An absence of noise and light and occupation meant the demons and ogres that only lurked on the fringes of their troubled minds during the day could flood in, by the cloak of night, without restraint. And so, Sheldon and Amy were both having trouble falling asleep. She was staring at the ceiling when she could sense Sheldon looking at her. She turned and saw that he was.

"Amy," he said. "You are a neurobiologist."

She nodded.

"And so you know about the nervous system."

"I do," she nodded.

"Then I must ask you: is the baby in danger?"

She turned back to the ceiling and closed her eyes. He was asking her to do for him what she couldn't even do for herself: still his nerves, calm his fears, and tell him that this was all going to be okay. She looked back at him, only to find him lying motionless and anxious; his eyes were trained on hers, transfixed by words she had yet to say. He had that look on his face: the one that only made an appearance on the _rarest_ of occasions—those occasions when he let down his guard enough to surrender all his ego and bombast and give in to what he wanted the most in the world: to be cared for, to be reassured. It was the Sheldon that _few_ knew.

It was the Sheldon she loved the most.

She shook her head. "I don't know, Sheldon," she whispered, her voice catching. As if he had been expecting a different answer, he turned away, uneasy. "But," she started again, "we'll just have to… have hope."

He turned away, covering his face with his hands. "I… am not inclined to placate myself with wishes and dreams, Amy. Hope is not enough." She could hear the stress in his voice.

"But that's all we have," she said. She drew closer to him until they were just inches apart, even touching a little. She brushed his face with her hand and he turned to her. Coming closer, he nestled his head in under neck, and she leaned against him tenderly, cradling his head in her hand. He wrapped his hand around her outstretched arm. She wasn't sure who was clinging whom, but it was the safest she'd felt in a long time.

* * *

The following morning seemed brighter, and when Amy left Sheldon for work, even though her head was still a-swirl with unanswered questions, she felt less desperate and alone.

Later that day, Sheldon was searching for lutes on when there was a knock at the door. He looked through the peephole and saw a man in a black uniform with a purple stripe across his chest. Sheldon opened the door.

"I have a FedEx envelope for," he looked at the label, "Amy Farrah Fowler from Central Pasadena Sperm Bank," he said, and handed Sheldon a stylus. "Please sign here." Sheldon took it and signed, and the man ran off.

Curious as to what it could be, Sheldon turned the envelope over in his hands. After a moment of deliberation, he pulled the string, ripping it open.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon gives Amy her package.

Amy poked her head in the door.

"Sheldon!" she called out, alerting him to her arrival. It had been his idea to try out the new Italian restaurant across town, and since the summer session at the University wouldn't start for another couple weeks, she could afford to take a leisurely lunch without anyone missing her. As far as the restaurant went, she was keeping her expectations low, which was probably still higher than what Sheldon was expecting.

He sauntered in from the back of the house, bearing a potted peace lily. Her face begged for an explanation.

"As we have no pets and I am allergic to many animals of the domesticated variety, I imagined that having a plant would be an ideal—and considerably less expensive—exercise in care-giving."

This had been the first statement of optimism she'd heard from Sheldon in days.

"Care-giving as in… raising a child?" Amy asked.

"More or less," he answered.

Despite the tacit vote of confidence, Amy still found the idea absurd. "Plants don't defecate, cry, eat or even move."

Sheldon shrugged. "They respond to the goading of a gentle breeze."

She shook her head, amused in spite of herself, and bent over, straightening out the welcome mat. "Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded and placed the plant on the table. Then, he took his keys out of the bowl and grabbed his messenger bag; he probably wanted to be dropped off somewhere after lunch. They walked out to the car and pulled off.

"Other than your adventure in botany," she said, making conversation, "how was your morning?"

"Uneventful," he answered; he reached into his bag. "However, a letter came for you from the sperm bank." Amy sat up suddenly, just barely repressing her alarm. "As I was perfectly sure it was nothing," he continued, "I took the liberty of opening it."

"And... what did it say?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"It was an 'exit questionnaire'" he said, "a survey that poses several questions about the quality of customer service you received and your general satisfaction, or dissatisfaction, with Central Pasadena Sperm Bank." He handed her the envelope, with a smirk. "There is nothing I enjoy more than giving my opinion about the service I've received, especially since it is almost always negative."

Amy, with a trembling hand, took the envelope from Sheldon, and then tossed it on the dashboard. "Thank you," she said, forcing herself to relax. "Although I ask that, in the future, you refrain from opening my personal correspondence." She looked at the document then back at Sheldon who was fussing with the buttons on his jacket. "Sheldon?"

"Noted," he said, still distracted.

She thought of something. "You know," she began, "if you wanted a chance to get some _real-world_ experience with children, the University is looking for a few more tutors for their math camp."

"How would I be compensated?" he asked.

"With the satisfaction of knowing you've helped Olympia's youth," she said. "And a certificate of participation." She braced herself for a biting reply. Instead, he looked up, a pensive look on his face.

"That may indeed be an enriching experience," he said. "Molding young minds with the doctrine of science and personally ushering them into a life of inquiry and investigation." He nodded. "I'll do it."

"Great!" she said. "I'll tell the coordinators."

With that, he nodded and returned to his preoccupation with his jacket's buttons.

As they road along, Amy thought once again about the questionnaire. There was a silver lining in this news: if she had received _this_ correspondence, than the doctor must surely have received her delivery as well. She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that it would be a short while before she would have her answer.

* * *

The phone rang. Sheldon answered it.

"Hello," the voice said. "Is an 'Amy Fowler' available?"

"I'm afraid she is not," Sheldon said. "May I ask with whom I'm speaking?"

"Um," the man hesitated. "Well, this is Olympia Medical Laboratories. We want to notify her of an appointment to review the lab results with her referring physician."

"Actually," Sheldon replied, "you can just as easily notify me, as I am the father—Sheldon Cooper."

There a pause, and then, "Um, we don't have you listed as the father, Mr. Cooper."

Sheldon found this disturbing. " _Dr._ Cooper. And now I'm obliged to ask who you _do_ have listed?"

"I can't release that information over the phone," the man said.

"Yet more evidence of the complete lunacy of this entire process," Sheldon said, his voice rising. He was heading towards a rant. "I find it both fascinating and just short of _infuriating_ that you're relaying this information through a means of communication that requires complete trust in the speaker to be honest about who he or she _claims_ to be, and yet you are suddenly so conscientious in regards to a— _clearly flawed_ —name on a piece of paper."

"Sir, please calm down," the man said reassuringly. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this but… really it just says 'unknown,' which could mean everything and nothing. It's probably just an omission or a typo or something."

"A typo?" Sheldon said, even more appalled. "Really, a _typo_? That certainly doesn't inspire any confidence in Olympia Medical Laboratories."

"Actually, sir," the man explained, "We get that information from the physician's office. You may want to take the matter up with them."

Sheldon just grumbled. But the man needed information.

"So, when would be a good time to call back for Mrs. Cooper?

"Dr. Fowler."

"Right, Dr. Fowler."

Sheldon's annoyance knew no bounds. "She'll be home from work shortly. You can call back in an hour or so. Whether or not we believe anything you have to say is another matter entirely."

The man sighed. "Either way, thank you."

* * *

When Amy walked through the door, Sheldon wasted no time in informing her of the call from the lab.

"Amy," he said, "I received a most bizarre phone call this afternoon."

"Let me guess," Amy said, "It was your urologist calling to tell you that you need your tonsils removed."

Sheldon looked at her a beat. "No."

"Rats," she said with a snap of her fingers.

"In reality, it was a call from the so-called 'Olympia Medical Laboratories' seeking to notify you of the appointment to get the test results."

Amy face sunk. That sounded like more bad news.

"What did they say?"

"That they could only speak with you. I made an impassioned plea, explaining that I was the father of the unborn child in question, and was met with further red tape and the _laughable_ assertion that the paternity was unknown."

Amy's heart skipped a beat. "That's… weird."

"It's not weird, Amy; it's _negligent_. I have a half a mind call down there and let them know the seriousness of such calls and the importance of accuracy in matters of such gravity."

Amy tried to assuage his fears. "It was nothing, Sheldon, I'm sure. They probably get hundreds of medical records a day. Human error is statistically unavoidable."

Sheldon shook his head. "No Amy, there must have been a change—a careless omission by some clerical staff member. My name was _clearly_ listed on the previous test results."

"How would you know that?" she asked.

"The receptionist provided us with a copy on our last visit."

Amy had never seen it.

Sheldon walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver. "I'm calling," he declared and began to dial.

"Don't Sheldon," Amy said. He looked at her with puzzlement.

"Why not?"

Her hands dropped to her side and she just stared at him. She was… _exhausted_ and she… she couldn't do it anymore. It had to end now. She _had_ to tell him.

Somehow.

Sheldon, however, took her silence for consent.

"Exactly as I suspected; there _is_ no good reason not to," he said and—pushing send—held the phone to his ear.

"There is a reason, Sheldon," she said. "There's something you should know."

"About _this?_ " he asked, surprised.

Amy nodded and steadied herself for what would probably go down as the hardest thing she would ever have to do in her life. "I haven't… been completely honest with you."

Sheldon froze with the phone in his hand. He didn't say anything. Didn't move. Coming from the receiver, Amy could hear someone repeating "Hello?"

"I didn't want to lie to you," she began gradually. "I thought that maybe if I could just get the DNA test done, and you turned out to be the biological father after all, you would never have to know."

"Amy," he said, quiet with panic, "What are you saying?"

"That after that last night in Pasadena, when we had so much trouble with… conception, I thought all the dreams I had of us having a child together would never come to fruition. I was… sad and desperate, but I had to make a decision and I had spent so much money and time and energy that it was only logical to… I couldn't just… I couldn't throw away the only chance I thought I had. In the middle of the night, I used the sperm specimen—"

Sheldon pulled away mid-sentence and walked to the other side of the room. Amy followed him, talking to his back.

"But, Sheldon, I got a fetal cell DNA test done. We can know the answer in a matter of days… maybe a week, tops."

Sheldon sat down on the couch, bracing himself with both arms. He was in perfect shock and he turned his gaze to the floor. His lips were pursed as if he was about to say something, but didn't. Amy felt terrible; she stooped down in front of him forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Sheldon, you can't imagine the emotional turmoil I was in that night. I didn't know what to do. If I'd only known that the following morning you would come back to me and—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said.

"I know there's no excuse, but I was so scared. I didn't know how you would react. You have to believe me when I say that it was _never, ever_ my intention to hurt you." With each word, she sounded worse: more selfish, more sneaky, more… awful. "What are you thinking Sheldon?" she pleaded.

He turned away, and when he finally spoke, he spoke calmly.

"That explains everything."

It was a surprising response.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean that this explains our current medical conundrum—the baffling triple screen results. It is now evident that the child you are carrying is a product of inferior sperm, Amy. The donor you selected no doubt transferred to the fetus some exotic foreign malady."

Amy shook her head. "Thousands of Americans suffer from these illnesses," she said. He snapped his head back to her.

"But _I_ don't," he said curtly. "And neither do you. Nor does anyone in our families. This _Danish gentleman,"_ he said with disdain, "is no doubt the source of this genetic quirk."

His words were so cold, so detached. The doting, caring, even _affectionate_ man that she had watched for over a month had vanished right before her eyes. She was gripped with desperate panic. She impulsively grabbed his hand, snuggling it against her face.

"Sheldon," she said pleading. "Don't… don't give up on us. Don't give up hope."

"Hope," he began, "is not _science_ , Amy. And ultimately, these matters are determined by cold, clinical, biological processes that operate completely independently of the fantasies of even the most 'hopeful' parents."

She slowly dropped to the floor, her mind racing. She had imagined that he would be angry, furious even, or hurt. But she hadn't imagined this. Slowly but firmly, he pulled his hand from hers.

"Excuse me," he said and, without a trace of emotion, went back to his room.

She watched, despondent, as he walked away, her heart breaking a little more with his every step.

* * *

She was lying face down on her bed when the phone rang close to an hour later. She left her room and walked out to the living room to answer it.

"Hello. Is an 'Amy Fowler' available?" the voice said.

She nodded, then remembered. "Yes."

"This is Craig with Olympia Medical Laboratories. I am calling to notify you that your doctor would like to meet with you to review your AFP test results tomorrow at 4:00 PM. Is that time agreeable to you?"

"Yes," she said.

"Very well, then," he said. "Have a good evening."

She stumbled back to her room, fell to the bed and didn't move until the following morning.

* * *

"How have you been feeling?" the doctor asked.

"Um," Amy began, "I've been a little congested."

"That's normal at this stage," she said reassuringly. "Running a humidifier at night should help with that. You might also want to drink hot, decaffeinated beverages."

Amy nodded.

The doctor lifted up a file and began rifling through the papers. Meanwhile, Amy's mind drifted back to that morning. Sheldon, cool and detached, had sat at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal while reading a book on quantum physics as if it were the most normal day in the world and not the first day of a life that was crumbling down around them. She'd been too ashamed to mention the appointment and left the house without a word.

It was her first appointment alone.

"Amy," the doctor said. She stared at Amy as if she'd called her name several times before.

"Yes?" Amy answered.

"I _said_ I can't seem to find the results to your first sonogram."

"That's most likely because I didn't have one," Amy explained. The doctor looked surprised.

"Why not?"

"There was a power outage the day I was supposed to go in and they told me they would call to reschedule. They never did, and we," she choked on the word, "never followed up with it."

"Well then you are long overdue," the doctor said, then realized how that sounded. "For a sonogram, not delivery."

"I deduced that," Amy said. There were several more moments of paper shuffling and Amy was just close to losing her mind.

"I was under the impression that I would be getting the AFP results today," she said, not very subtly.

"Right," the doctor said, biting her lip. She took a deep breath. "They returned high."

Due to the pageantry surrounding the visit, Amy had anticipated that answer—but hearing the words was no less upsetting.

"So the next step," the doctor continued, "is to get an ultrasound. If the baby is suffering from any birth defects, they will be discernible then."

"When can I get that done?" Amy asked, determined not to cry. She was tired of crying.

"I've arranged for one Tuesday. I wanted to find one sooner, but it just wasn't possible on a weekend on such short notice." She looked at Amy with pity. "I know this is distressing, but until the ultrasound results, we still won't know. Let's hope for the best, okay?"

It was small consolation.

"There is one more thing," the doctor said, hesitantly, as if she were wrangling with the idea of even mentioning it. "The technician might be able to determine the baby's gender."

Amy swallowed. In all that had been going on, she hadn't realized that the time for that had come so quickly. "Oh," she said.

"Would you like to know?" the doctor asked.

"I… don't know." Amy shrugged. She hadn't formed an opinion yet.

"What does _Sheldon_ think?"

Amy shook her head. "I don't know."

The doctor saw the sadness on her face. She shed just a bit of her professional reserve and placed a hand on Amy's shoulder. "Amy," she began. "I don't want to pry or assume anything, but… pregnancy, even a near- _perfect_ one, can be still fraught with a lot of anxiety and discomfort, both emotionally and physically. Make sure that, no matter what is happening to you personally, you have a team of people around you supporting you and helping you. Those people can be a significant other, or it can be a mother, a sibling, a friend or a spiritual advisor. The important thing is… don't go at it alone." She lowered her eyes to meet Amy's. "Do you understand?" she asked.

Amy nodded.

Soon the appointment was over and Amy stepped out into the office to make her insurance co-pay. She walked out to her car, taken with how much warmer it had gotten since she'd been inside. She opened the door and got into the driver's seat, and then sat regrouping for a minute. She leaned her head against the steering wheel…

And started to cry.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon volunteers at math camp.

Amy was surprised to get up for work on Monday morning and find Sheldon getting ready to accompany her. They had barely spoken all weekend—keeping their remarks to what was only necessary—and they weren't sleeping together, mostly because Amy was too scared to even attempt to go in his room. Hiding from him seemed like her only option.

"Will you be leaving at your normal time?" he said as he exited the bathroom.

"Yes."

"Very well then," he said. He stepped out and she passed him going in.

"I'm surprised," she said, "that you're still going."

"Have you ever known me to be anything other than a man of my word?" he asked.

She didn't want to answer, and if she listened closely enough she could hear the accusation in the statement. "No."

"Then I will still be volunteering in the math camp," he said and disappeared behind his door.

The ride to work was tense, and Sheldon looked determinedly out of the passenger-side window the entire time. When they arrived, he got out of the car and dutifully said goodbye. Amy drove back to the Science Building, checked her mailbox, and then walked back to her office, locked the door and put her head on her desk.

* * *

Mid-morning, Amy was rummaging through the seats of her car, searching for loose change to get a Mr. Goodbar that she very much wanted. As she searched, she noticed that Sheldon had left his lunch in the car. After a moment of reflection, she decided to make the short drive to take it to him. She found him in a Math Building classroom midway through an explanation of the Pythagorean Theorem.

"So to solve for the value of the hypotenuse," he was saying as she entered the door. Wordlessly, she handed him the paper sack and then, with a small wave, left. Sheldon was, quite literally, left holding the bag. He placed it on his desk before resuming his lesson.

"So, using the triangle _here_ , with 'a' being the value of three and 'b' having a value of four, we solve…" he scribbled and explained each line, solving for the unknown value. "So 'c' is five." He placed down his smart board stylus and turned to the class. "Are there any questions?"

The class stared back at him with numb silence.

"OK, then, let's move on to one of my favorites: algebraic postulates of equality."

"I have a question," one child said.

"Alright then," Sheldon said. "Share it with the group."

"Who was that lady?"

Sheldon looked confused. "That is in no way relevant to what we are currently studying," he said. "Now back to the algebra—"

"Is that lady your wife?" another student asked.

Sheldon sighed. "No, she is not my wife. Okay, on to the lesson on—"

"Is she your girlfriend?" another student asked.

Sheldon relented. "My personal affairs of none of your concern. Now if we can resume—"

One child in the back, who had been particularly quiet, was muttering something.

"Excuse me?" Sheldon asked, a question that later proved to be ill-advised. "What are you saying?"

"I said, 'Mr. Cooper and that lady sitting in a tree.'"

"Please refrain from singing…," Sheldon began while consulting his seating chart for a name, but before he could find "Terrance," another student was joining in the impromptu sing-a-long.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

"Now you stop that," Sheldon protested.

More voices joined the chorus. "First comes love, then comes marriage…"

"Stop that, stop that _now_ , I say," Sheldon insisted, but his objections were wholly ignored. Almost the entire class was now joined in harmonious chanting.

"Then comes the baby in the baby carriage."

"Alright," Sheldon said, yelled actually. "I hope you've had your fun. But Chorus is over and Mathematics is back in session. So, pick up your pencils and—"

But the class began again singing a second time, followed by a third, and growing louder and more raucous with each round.

Sheldon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

* * *

At the close of day, Amy came to pick him up.

"How was your first day?" she dared to ask.

"Remarkably identical to my last," he replied and threw his messenger bag into the back seat.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"I quit."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you why. Your simple act of bringing me my lunch ignited a rousing and _musical_ bout of that age-old game, 'disrupt math class by mocking the teacher in song.'"

"Oh, dear," Amy said in commiseration.

"'Oh, dear' is right," Sheldon said. "I'm afraid that if that class is any indication of the state of America's youth, then our nation is, metaphorically speaking, going to Hell in a hand basket."

The words caught Amy by surprise. "You don't really feel that way, of course," she said.

"Oh, but I do," he said emphatically. "I fear for the future of this nation, if not the world."

"You can't judge the future of humanity from a trying day with middle-schoolers."

"Amy, your continued insistence on positivity in the face of glaring evidence to the contrary is admirable, though very, _very_ naïve."

"You are aware that I'm pregnant?" she said.

"All too aware," he answered.

"So you must also realize that pregnancy, at its essence, is an investment in the future and thus, by definition, carries with it a certain obligation to remain optimistic."

"Making it, _by definition_ , a reckless endeavor," he muttered.

She turned to him briefly before returning her gaze to the road. "Sheldon, I refuse to be so frustrated by the bad in the world as to deprive myself of the small joys that make life worth living."

"Key word being 'small'."

"Small in size, maybe, but not small in value." In response to this, Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Sheldon don't pretend to have me believe that you have no hopes for the future. Your desire for a Nobel Prize alone—" He interrupted her.

"Amy, by now I thought you would have realized that I am a _firm_ realist. Methodical planning towards an attainable goal is _wholly_ opposite from blind faith. Wide-eyed dreaming is for fools."

"Is that would you think of the baby?"

She instantly regretted asking the question.

"I don't know what to think of the baby, frankly," he said nonchalantly. "May it'll be born with a missing spine. Maybe it'll die. Maybe it'll grow up and go back to its ancestral home of Denmark," he said. "Instead of The Gestation Project, maybe we should call this entire episode Schrödinger's Pregnancy."

Amy had no response for that, verbally or otherwise. The words stung so much that it put her in an upsetting daze, and she drove the rest of the way home on auto-pilot. She was even startled to find herself pulling into the driveway. When she stopped, Sheldon immediately got out of the car and walked into the house.

For her part, she couldn't even muster the wherewithal to go inside, and didn't for several minutes. When she finally got up the nerve to, found Sheldon sitting down on the couch reading a book on cosmology. He was also, incidentally, drinking a cup of hot tea.

"Sheldon?" she called to him.

He turned away from the page slowly, apparently spellbound by the captivating bit he was reading at that moment. "Yes?" he said finally, as if awaking from a trance.

"How can you possibly sit there and read that book?" she asked.

He looks at her, bewildered. "Well, I learned to read at three years old, and I've been 'sitting and reading' books ever since."

"Sheldon," she said, almost pleading for him to be present, "it's as if you don't even see the maelstrom raging around us."

Sheldon looked around. He, indeed, saw no such maelstrom.

Amy looked away, then turned back to him. "Our lives don't even make sense anymore. We're deceiving ourselves by going about our daily routine like everything is normal when in reality it's a swirling vortex of madness."

Sheldon was truly taken at this rather dramatic assessment. "How is that even _remotely_ true?" he asked.

"For starters," Amy began, "we walk around here too cowardly to address the issue that we don't even know who the father of my baby is. It could be the offspring of some blond, Danish athlete or some skinny, brunet nerd."

"That's a rather demeaning description," he muttered.

"And if you _are_ the father," Amy continued, "we need to conduct meaningful and productive conversations on everything from views on child-rearing to opinions on vaccines, economic considerations, and which football team we support."

"The Cowboys," he answered immediately. "Not that I have a preference, but I promise you, my family would riot."

"And if you _aren't_ the father," Amy soldiered on, "then what are you? The god-father? The step-uncle? The physics tutor?"

"I don't believe step-uncle is a real relation."

Amy stared at him, almost desperate. "And finally… what about us?"

And for the first time, Sheldon seemed sufficiently distracted from his book to place it to the side. He found the question more jarring than Amy had anticipated, and he looked away, not meeting her eyes, when he finally did answer.

"Amy," he said, "I believe that in spite of all the detours our relationship has taken, it functions best—and has _always_ functioned best—when we operate as fr—"

Amy could literally feel the blood rush to her head.

"WE AREN'T FUCKING _FRIENDS_ , SHELDON!" she screamed. Sheldon was stunned by the outburst, and his head snapped to her. He had never seen her so angry in his life. "We are _not friends_. Friends don't quit jobs and then move to be with each other. Friends don't offer to have each other's children. Friends don't share beds and have pillow talk in the wee hours of the morning. And friends don't have sex."

Sheldon stood up, anxious, at a loss for words. "Some friends do," he whispered.

"Well I CAN'T," she yelled. She was trembling and her voice grew sharp. "Because Sheldon… I am _in love_ with you. I have been ever since you showed up in my hotel room in Pasadena and probably for much longer. And for a while there, every now and then, the way… the way you would _look_ at me, the way you _smile_ , or some passing comment would make me think that, just maybe, you felt the same way. But…"

If she was waiting for some confirmation of this fact from Sheldon, none came. He looked at her with icy calm, his gaze unwavering and his mouth pulled into a straight line. He didn't say anything.

"All that's changed," she said. Her tone grew darker. " _You've_ changed."

Sheldon was accosted by the assertion, not missing the accusation in her voice.

"Have I _changed_?" he repeated. "Or returned to form?"

"Excuse me?"

"Amy, when you first visited me close to four months ago, you found a man that was virtually identical to the one you had left behind two years prior. I was still a resident of Pasadena, an employee of Caltech and—most of all—a man of _science_. However, in the days following our reacquaintance, I allowed my _attachment_ to you to persuade me into pursuing a domesticated lifestyle governed by impulse and emotion—"

"I didn't make you do _anything_ , Sheldon—"

"You lulled me into a sense of complacency."

"That's not fair. I only—"

"YOU LIED TO ME!" he roared. And then a second time, more softly, "You lied to me."

Amy covered her mouth with her hands, too upset to even cry. "And I am so sorry, Sheldon, more than you can imagine. But I don't know what more I can do."

"Well, I find your apology inadequate," he said sternly.

They stood there, staring at each other, locked in mutual looks of hurt and despair.

Amy was the first to speak. "Well, if you feel that way," she said, "maybe it would be best if you left."

"You're throwing me out?" he said.

She lowered her head then looked back up. "I guess I am."

With that, Sheldon started towards his room, but then turned around.

"You told me I was safe here, Amy. That _we_ were safe here."

The words cut through her like a stiff breeze. She closed her eyes, completely overwhelmed.

"Just go," she whispered.

Once more he turned around, then walked back to his room and began to pack his things.

* * *

Amy woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom and, upon passing Sheldon's room, found the door wide open: he was gone. Distracted from her original mission, she drifted into the abandoned room, and took a look around. Gone were the little things that had had distinguished the room as Sheldon's: model trains, various gadgets and cables, graphing notebooks, DVDs and comic books. She was struck with the saddening thought that this room—and the entire house—was once again hers, and only hers.

She was already missing him desperately and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that life with him had somehow become impossible. At that moment, she seemed doomed to live a life of misery.

She walked over to the bed, sat down and then, finally slipping beneath the covers, she tuckered in for the night.

* * *

Sheldon walked out of the airport exhausted. After looking for tickets at the last minute, he was only able to find an awful early-morning flight that included an exhausting four-hour layover in Portland. After an hour taxi ride to Seattle, he'd spent the night in the airport and then subsisted all day on a bottle of chai tea and a bag of pretzels. Now, leaving the airport in Burbank, he had never wanted to be home so desperately in his life. Standing on the curb with luggage in tow, he hailed a taxi. When one stopped, he tossed his bags into the trunk, then got in.

"Please deliver me to 2311 Los Robles Ave," he said. The driver nodded and took off. Sheldon took a deep breath, and took out his phone.

"See picture?" the man said, holding up a photo of a small infant over his shoulder. However, Sheldon did not even attempt to humor the man, and remained glued to the tiny screen. "My grandbaby," the man continued, undeterred. His shaky grip on the English language only intensified Sheldon's irritation. "Handsome, huh? He born last week. Very fat baby. Strong baby, like me."

His boasts were met with more silence from his passenger.

"You got childs?" the man asked.

Sheldon finally answered, annoyed. "No, I do not have 'childs'."

"You should have childs," the man said. "Then one day you get grandbaby too." He laughed jovially.

At last Sheldon looked up.

"Does your bringing me to my home require that we engage in inconsequential and bothersome chit chat?"

"Huh?" the man asked. "I don't understand. My English not good."

"I've noticed," Sheldon mumbled and resumed distracting himself from the man… and from life.

"You got girlfriend?" the man continued. "My daughter very pretty. She get married soon. Nice tall boy like you."

Sheldon wasn't sure if this was a wedding announcement or attempt at arranged marriage, but either way, he'd reached his limit. "Do not speak to me anymore for the remainder of the this trip, or I swear on everything that is sacred and holy in this world that I will notify whomever is the owner of this taxi company and make sure that I don't rest until I have your job."

The man grew sullen, and stopped all efforts at continuing the conversation.

"Good you don't have no childs," he muttered.

* * *

Amy was buried under a mound of comforters when she got a phone call. She pulled her cell phone from under her pillow and squinted against the light from the screen; the caller was unknown, but the call was local. She answered.

"Amy."

It was Virgil.

"What do you want?" she asked exasperated.

"I'm here in Olympia, taking a class on how to prepare Thai food."

Amy was _not_ having it. "You're lying."

"I swear on my mother's grave and Anthony Bourdain's chef knife that I am not," he replied. That was… rather convincing.

"I thought you were allergic to Thai food," she said.

"I am."

"Then… do you see why I am finding this conversation increasingly more baffling?"

"When I found out there was a master chef class going on in Olympia," he explained, "I had to come here. You don't know what it means to me to know that we're breathing the same air again."

Amy didn't even know how to… _respond_ to that. "Haven't you found someone else by now, Virgil?"

He moaned. "I keep trying but… there's no one else like you, Amy." She shook her head. "No one else lets me ramble on about the different types of parsley."

She sat up for the first time in hours. "No one else tolerates your antics."

"Well, no one else loves you more than me," he said. "Not even Sheldon."

Amy didn't say anything.

"He's in the room? Isn't he?"

She sighed. "No. He's… he's back in Pasadena," she answered, and instantly had the suspicion she would soon regret divulging that bit of information.

"So… he's not there?"

"Good night, Virgil," she said, poised to hang up, but she could hear him shouting into the phone.

"Let me see you, Amy!" He sounded so pathetic… so _desperate_. She returned the phone to her ear.

"You know I can't do that."

"Please. I won't come in—I promise. I just want to make sure you're okay. That's all."

For the first time, she actually considered his request, and was surprised to realize that, even though she didn't know why, she actually wouldn't mind seeing him.

"Fine," she relented. "You may come."

"Yippety doo dah!" he cried. She smiled. She hadn't heard anyone say that since… she was with him. "I'm on my way," he said.

* * *

Amy put on some clothes then sat by the door, restless and awaiting his knock. After a half hour, it came.

She opened the door, and he stood there, not saying a word. Their last meeting had been so explosive that she had barely looked at him at all. But this time, seeing him in the flesh was like meeting someone who'd you'd only ever seen before in a black and white photo; he looked vibrant and colorful. There had been some changes since they'd last seen each other: his hair was a little longer, and he had the beginnings of a beard. But he also looked happy, like seeing her face was all he wanted in the world. There was a bandage around his left pinky finger, no doubt from one of his regular knife accidents. And, since he was from LA, he was the first person she'd seen in weeks that actually had a tan.

She caught him glancing down at her stomach. Then, he… he held out his arms for a hug. Amy didn't know why, but it reminded her of the first time they'd met. Sheldon had refused to go with her to a workmate's cook-out—the reason why escapes her now—and she'd decided to go alone. Standing off to the side, she'd felt very lonely and out of her element. Virgil had been working the grill and they'd struck up an easy conversation; he'd been friendly and chatty and masterful with a chunk of red meat. Sure, he hadn't been her preference that evening, really, but he had been enough.

Kind of like right now.

She moved forward and walked into his hug. They just, kind of, stood there for a moment, embracing, and Amy let the moment happen. It was a while—too long, really—before they pulled apart. She took a step back.

"Hello, Amy," he said. And it was something in the way that he said her name that made her really look into his eyes. And that's when she finally saw something all too familiar—the same glassy shine that they had always had. And that's when she knew she couldn't just let him drive away.

"Come in," she said and opened the door wider.

Almost as stunned as she was, he walked inside.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheldon goes back to Pasadena.

Sheldon was flipping through his keys to unlock the door to his apartment when Penny suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Sheldon," she squealed.

He didn't acknowledge she was there.

"Um, _Sheldon_ ," she said, offended, "I'm talking to you."

"Unfortunately," he muttered.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. He slumped with annoyance.

"I am entering my apartment, Penny."

"I can see that. But where's Amy?"

Sheldon took a hard breath and then spun around.

"In Washington. We aren't together anymore. Satisfied?"

But Penny wasn't, and her face radiated one question.

"What about the baby?" she asked.

Sheldon rushed at her and she took a defensive step back.

"Where did you hear that?" he demanded.

"From Amy," she answered, matter-of-factly.

He grabbed both of her shoulders. "Don't repeat that to anyone. Are we clear?"

Penny snatched her arms away. "Don't touch me, Sheldon," she spat.

"I'm serious," he persisted.

"I. Am. Too," she said. She turned and went into her apartment. "Dammit," she cursed.

"What?" Leonard said.

"Sheldon is across the hall and I _seriously_ think you need to talk to him."

"Why?"

"Because he is in a _hellaciously_ bad mood and Amy isn't with him."

"Why not?" he asked, curiosity mounting.

Penny waved her arms around with mock secrecy. "I can't tell you,"

Leonard shook his head and then, crossing the hall, knocked on Sheldon's door. No answer. He knocked several more times, unwilling to leave. After several more knocks, Sheldon swung the door open, clearly furious, and without so much as a 'hello.'

"Are you okay?" Leonard asked.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Sheldon answered deliberately.

"Penny told me you were in a bad mood."

"Did she tell you anything _else_?" Sheldon asked, through grit teeth.

"No," Leonard said. There was silence, and Sheldon went to close the door but Leonard held it open. "We've missed you at work."

"Well, that would be due to the fact that I don't work there anymore," Sheldon replied.

"Okay," Leonard said. He had another question. "Um, where's Amy?"

Sheldon didn't answer, and then did. "We're done here," he said and slammed the door shut.

Leonard walked back to his apartment.

"Penny?" he called.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"Call Mrs. Cooper."

* * *

Amy's room was completely dark, and she sat on the edge of the bed as Virgil lay down. She was already having regrets and he'd only been there a half hour. Virgil continued with his story… if it could even be called that.

"And he's always had that… that _opinion_ … that's he's fucking _better_ than me, just because he can run numbers," he said. He was leaning against the headboard and had a heating pad draped across his forehead. "It's fucking _infuriating_. People don't come to the restaurant to see a fucking spreadsheet, you know? They come for great fucking _food_. And a business partner is supposed to be a _partner_ , not a… not a fucking… a fucking…"

He seemed to be at a loss for words. Amy used it as an opportunity to return to her original point.

"You haven't answered my question," she said calmly.

"I have answered it, Amy," he said. "I'm not _on_ anything."

She turned to him, dismayed. "What is it tonight? Xanax? Ativan? Valium?"

"Actually," he said with a smile, "it was an _exquisite_ , 2002 vintage, Domaine Francois Raveneau Blanchot."

"Which cost?"

"I dunno," he slurred. "A couple hundred a bottle?"

"Cocaine would be cheaper," she muttered.

He sat up a little, a playful smirk on his face. "C'mon, Amy. You know I'm better after a few drinks."

"I know no such thing," she said. "What I do know is that unless you learn to manage your stress without abusing substances—"

"I don't 'abuse substances'," he protested. "I just needed a little night cap. Everybody needs a little night cap every now and then."

"Virgil, look at yourself," she insisted. "You used to have a couple drinks every night with dinner. Now you are, as they say, 'three sheets to the wind' in the middle of the week!"

Virgil sat up, feeling the accusation. "That's easy for you to say, Amy, when all you do all day is sit behind a computer. Do you have any idea how stressful it is to work fourteen hours a day, six days a week? I have to manage lazy employees, maintain quality control, deal with bitchy diners—"

"You could have _killed_ someone, Virgil."

He lied down, draping his arm over his eyes, "Well you," he slurred, "are a total buzz kill."

Amy just shook her head. Talking to him was like arguing with a drunk man. She thought a moment before continuing. "Virgil I strongly recommend that you seek help."

He sat straight up. "Help? _Help?_ " He busted out laughing, falling back to the bed.

"I'm not kidding, Virgil. You are a shell of who you used to be," she said.

"Don't judge me Amy," he replied.

"I'm not judging you," she said. "But unless you get this under control, you are going to lose everything you have worked so hard for."

Wobbly but growing upset, he sat up. "You know what? I thought you would have learned not to be such a nagger by now. You always _nagged_ me. I don't see how Sheldon does it."

"Don't talk about Sheldon" Amy demanded. This irked Virgil.

"Oh, your precious Sheldon," he said mockingly. "You know what? You _never_ loved me."

"That's a lie and you know it," she shot back. She had cared for him deeply, once. And that was love, wasn't it?

He got really close to Amy's face. "I could make a baby, too, you know."

She shook her head. "But you could _never_ be the kind of father I needed."

"Oh and Sheldon can?" he asked. "Always throwing tantrums and wanting his way? I guess after you have your baby… you're gonna have _two_ babies."

"Being with you was comparable to having quintuplets. You passed your days reining over your gastronomic kingdom only to come home and get sloppy and helpless."

"I don't have to take this," he said, standing up. "I'm leaving." He stumbled towards the bedroom door, while patting his jacket for his keys. "You took my keys didn't you?" he said.

She nodded. "I couldn't allow you to drive off in your condition."

Wordlessly, he walked back towards the bed and fell back down. "I'm so sleepy," he muttered. Amy stood and tinkered with the alarm clock.

"You should be gone by seven," she said. He didn't respond. She rose and went to what once was Sheldon's room and put on one of the coats he'd left behind (maybe he figured he'd have no use for them in California). She put on a pair of socks and then shoes. She walked out to the back porch and sat on the stoop. She had to clear her mind.

* * *

Sheldon lay in bed in the wee hours of the morning, his head spinning with preoccupation. As exhausted as he was, he was _delirious_ with worry. He thought that coming back here and being surrounded with all the trappings of his old life would snap him out of this funk and reboot his life in Safe Mode, to the last time when it functioned properly. Instead, even though his body was here, his mind was there, with Amy…

With the baby.

He would have given anything to have a single, coherent thought again, but mental peace seemed as elusive as the Unification Theory. He was startled to hear his house phone ringing.

He walked to the living room to answer. The caller ID said Darryl Newsome. Inexplicably, he answered anyway.

"Hello?" he answered groggily.

"This is… Amy."

The sound of her voice reset his entire… _everything_. He couldn't breathe, much less speak.

"You… don't have to say anything," she began. "I just… couldn't sleep and thought you were entitled to some information." He could hear her swallow on the other side of the phone. "I had the sonogram done, and… everything is normal. Everything is fine."

_Good news_ , he thought, and the thought surprised him. The rational part of him wanted to shut that door, not care, walk away. But…

He couldn't.

"The paternity test came back," she continued. Then she paused, subjecting Sheldon to cruel seconds of eternity. "You're the father."

Sheldon was…

…

"Amy," he said. But he was too late… she'd already hung up.

* * *

Mrs. Cooper knocked on Sheldon's door. She waited a minute, but there was no answer. She knocked again. After more silence she knocked a third time.

"Shelly?" she called through the door.

A moment later the door opened and Sheldon was standing there. She was surprised at his appearance: he had a couple days' worth of stubble and he was still wearing pajamas even though it was after noon. Wordlessly, he left the door open and walked back to the sofa, sitting down. Mrs. Cooper took this as an invitation to come in. He was just sitting there, staring ahead and doing nothing—no TV, no books, no video games.

"Hello, Shelly," she said.

"Hello, Mom," he replied without looking at her. He added, calmly, "Leonard sent you."

"He did," Mrs. Cooper confirmed. "He told me you were feeling a little under the weather and would probably like a visit."

Typically, when people used the expression "under the weather", Sheldon reminded them that, technically, _everyone_ lived under the weather, since most weather phenomena were precipitated by conditions in the troposphere right above their heads. However, on this day, the thought didn't even cross his mind.

Mrs. Cooper held up a large brown paper bag from the local grocery store. "Shelly, I bought some of the ingredients to prepare your favorite foods. I thought I might make you a meal and cheer you up some." Sheldon turned to her and watched her as she walked towards the kitchen, unloading the bag and locating pots and pans. "We're gonna have some country fried steak, mash potatoes with gravy, and fried okra," she listed cheerily. "Oh, and my famous cornbread."

Sheldon watched her, detached and not particularly responsive. "You were right, Mom," he said finally.

"How's that?" she asked.

"You were right about Amy. I shouldn't have gone with her to Washington."

"Hmm," Mrs. Cooper said pensively. "About that. I had a long talk with Jesus and now I realize that I was wrong."

Sheldon was surprised at this news. "What do you mean?"

She talked as she worked. "Now, while I still don't believe in folks shacking up without making some vows to each other in front of God and man, that doesn't mean that I had the right to behave the way I did. Amy's a fine woman, and the Lord made us all free to make our own decisions. So I have to respect your right to love whoever you want, however you want. The same way I have to accept the fact that you think we all came from monkeys. And so Shelly, I just want to let you know… I'm sorry."

Sheldon had long since forgiven his mother anyway.

"Mom, don't worr—" he began, and then stopped suddenly. Mrs. Cooper, who'd—up until that point—had her back to him, turned around to see what had happened. He was looking straight ahead—not moving a muscle—and his lips were parted the slightest bit. Even though his face was dry as a bone, he had the unmistakable look of someone who was fighting back tears.

"Shelly?" she called. But he didn't answer. He took a labored breath, and one tear fell. "Oh, Shelly," she said and raced over to him, taking a seat next to him on the couch. He turned to her, and shook his head—more tears fell. He put a hand over his eyes, ashamed. "Precious Sheldon," she said, and placed a hand on his back. "What is the matter?"

"I ruined everything," he said simply.

"Why? What happened?"

"I've… I've always had my life in perfect harmony and control with calculated precision and purposeful direction. But sitting here, reflecting on the current state of my affairs makes me realize that I am in a dire situation," he explained. "I've abandoned a job at a prestigious university; I haven't touched a physics-related journal in… I can't even recall; seeing as I'm not actively a part of any research program, my Nobel Prize is in _serious_ jeopardy; and I've lost…" he choked up and paused for moment, fighting for his voice, and not quite succeeding. "I've lost Amy."

Mrs. Cooper rubbed his back. It was an action he didn't want, but he was too close to losing control to say so. "Shelly, you can fight your way back. All is not lost."

He shook his head determinedly, tearing up anew.

"What is it, Shelly? Tell me?"

He turned to her. "Amy is pregnant with my child."

The trajectory of Mrs. Cooper's emotions was written plainly on her face: from the initial shock, to the dawning realization that she would be a grandmother and finally her ebullient joy.

"Shelly," she said, beaming. "A _grandchild!_ That is _excellent_ news. Why are you crying?"

"Because I know she never wants to see me again."

Mrs. Cooper couldn't make heads or tails of what had happened, but one thing was certain: she'd had enough of this pity party.

"Listen, Shelly," she said. She took his face in her hand and, with her thumb, brushed away the pools of moisture beneath his eyes. "Now you may be living in California, but you are from Texan stock, and here lately your life has been one heck of a country song. But what happens when you play a country song backwards?"

Sheldon knew this one. "You get your dog back, and your truck back, and your job back and your woman back."

" _Thaaat's_ it," she said with a nod. "Now, Shelly, we're about to throw this thing in reverse. So dry those tears and swallow your pride: here's what we're gonna do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Darryl Newsome: he's Amy's landlord. He's one of those control freak types that puts all the utilities in his name. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy and all, but he has a major case of halitosis. If you ever run into him, don't get close.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Cooper implements her four-step plan.

"Now, Shelly," Mrs. Cooper said, "you wait right here. I'm going to take care of Step One." Sheldon took a seat on the bench just outside the office door as his mother walked in.

"I'm here to see Dean Gablehauser," she said. "I don't have an appointment, but I believe he wouldn't mind seeing me, if you know what I mean."

The receptionist certainly didn't know what she meant, most likely because Mrs. Cooper actually didn't mean anything. But the older woman had said it with so much gravity, the receptionist complied—and with haste.

"There is a woman here to see you," she said into the phone. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And I believe it's urgent." She nodded at Mrs. Cooper. "He'll see you now."

"Thanks, sweetheart," she said. She walked through the door. The Dean stood.

"Ah, Mrs. Cooper," he said with a smile. "It's been a long time since we've spoken."

"Indeed it has," she said. "And how have you been?"

"Great," the Dean said. "And you?"

"Well, I've been better."

The Dean nodded with recognition. "It's your son, isn't it?" he asked.

Mrs. Cooper nodded. "It is. Now, I know we've been down this road before, but Shelly is given to passions. It's the same thing that makes him a great scientist. That passion. So, even though I know he said—"

"Dr. Cooper is still employed here at Caltech," the Dean said plainly. Mrs. Cooper was pleasantly surprised—though _thoroughly_ confused—by this news.

"He told me he quit," she said.

"He did," the Dean said with a sigh. "But I felt so bad about the way the whole 'book-deal' situation played out, I didn't accept his resignation. Instead, I put through the paperwork for him to go on sabbatical. He's not due back to work until the Fall."

Mrs. Cooper smiled at that. "Well, that was mighty kind of you," she said.

"It was the least I could do. I had my secretary call him on the phone several times to let him know, but she said someone would pick up and not say anything."

"It's… a long story," Mrs. Cooper replied.

"So," the Dean purred, "you're looking as great as ever."

"Am I?" she answered back. "That's always good to hear. You don't look so bad yourself."

He nodded appreciatively. "Have you had lunch yet?" he asked.

"Awww, now I would love to join you Dr. Gablehauser—"

"Please, call me Eric," he said.

"Very well then, _Eric_ ," she continued. "But I'm afraid my son and I are on a mission of sorts and must be on our way."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Maybe next time."

She nodded. "Maybe so."

"Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Mrs. Cooper paused a moment. "As a matter of fact, there is one thing. My son tells me that he is worried about this whole tenure situation. Now, I don't know all the ins and outs of higher learning, but I do know that when a man works hard, he deserves to have some kind of job security. I'm sure you feel the same way."

_Eric_ was a bit disconcerted at this statement. "If I'm being honest, Mrs. Cooper—"

"Mary."

"Mary, I couldn't agree more," he said. "Can I tell you something off the record?"

"It'll be like we've never met," she said.

"Sheldon's tenure is guaranteed. There's no way Caltech would let someone of his potential get away. But the President wanted to use it as leverage to, squeeze as much out of him as possible. I know; it's appalling."

"It is that," Mrs. Cooper agreed.

"Don't tell, Sheldon, but if you could persuade him to hold tight, I'll see what I can do to advocate in his behalf and move things along."

Mrs. Cooper stepped forward, one hand outstretched, the other over her heart. "I do thank you, Eric. You've always been upright with me, and that is something I never take for granted." He took her hand and held it, a bit longer than he had to.

"Thanks for stopping by," he said. "And… _next_ time."

"Next time," she said with a wink, and walked out.

Mrs. Cooper met Sheldon at the door.

"What happened?" he asked, standing.

"Don't clean out your desk just yet, baby," she said. "Now, c'mon; we're moving on to Step Two."

* * *

"Now I want you to go in there, with your head held high and get your mail. That should knock out Step Two," she said. Sheldon got out of the car and walked to the main physics building. The receptionist spotted him.

"Dr. Cooper!" she said with some shock. "How've you been?"

"Fine," he said and walked over to his mailbox. It was teeming with junk mail, memos, and—most interestingly—science journals. Sheldon would have reading material for _years_. Well… days at least. "Is there anything I should know?" he asked.

"Well, your mailbox is full," she said. Sheldon sighed.

"I can see that," he said. "Is there any news in the department?" The receptionist shrugged. "Dr. Kripke got a book deal with Random House."

Sheldon grumbled as he left out of the door.

* * *

"Next up," Mrs. Cooper said as they rode along. "Step Three."

"Mom, while I have certainly been impressed with your near _miraculous_ skill at reordering my life, I hardly think you can get me the Nobel Prize."

"Who said anything about the Nobel Prize?" Mrs. Cooper blurted. "I'm just trying to get your name back out in the science community like you want. Here," she handed him her phone which was already ringing. "Talk to him."

"Hello?" came a voice on the other end.

"Hello," Sheldon said. He looked at his mother for clues as to who it was.

"It's my cousin Moonie from Texas Town Publishing," she whispered. Sheldon groaned.

"Excuse me one minute," he said into the phone, then cupped the receiver. "Mom, I told you that I don't care about that book."

"Well that is very confusing, Shelly," she said. "One minute you're quitting your job behind the book, and the next minute you don't care about the book. Now which is it?"

"It's complicated. You see—never mind," he sighed, and went back to the phone. "Hello Moonie," he said.

"Hey Sheldon. Nice to hear your voice. I haven't seen you in… _years_." Sheldon repressed urges to remark at how fortunate that had been. "Yeah, your mother tells me you interested in writing a science book."

"While I appreciate your help, Moonie," he began, "my mother and I seem to have fallen prey to a classic case of miscommunication. I'm actually not interested in writing a book at this time."

"Really?" Moonie said, sounding disappointed. "That's a shame. Because, well… if I'm being honest, I could really use your help."

" _My_ help?" Sheldon said, shocked. "How could _I_ possibly help _you_?"

"Well, we ain't a big operation like Random House or anything, but the Texas State Fair asked us if we could work on a children's book for a fundraiser they're having. And I was hoping you could, you know, maybe write up something that might be appealing to a child. Something to get 'em interested in science. I dunno... that's probably crazy. We couldn't pay you much of anything, being a fundraiser and all."

Sheldon was poised to reject the offer outright and then thought of something.

"It would be my honor," he said.

"Seriously?" Moonie exclaimed. "I never thought you'd say yes in a million years. Well how about that!"

"I look forward to working with you," Sheldon said, and hung up.

" _Sooo_?" his mother asked.

"I think we have a book deal," he said, more surprised than anyone.

"Great," she said, and then held out her hand. "That means you have some moola."

"He won't be paying me much, Mom," Sheldon explained. "It's for a fundraiser."

"Oh, God'll find a way to get you that money back. Now hand me over one of those credit cards of yours—we're moving on to Step Four."

* * *

"Dr. Fowler, you can come back now," the receptionist called. Her life had turned into a never ending string of doctor's appointments, and blood tests and multi-vitamins. Even though it was more or less what she had signed up for, the reality of it was more tiring that she had anticipated. She had imagined pregnancy being a radiant time, a fun time, a glorious time. But lately, she had been mostly sad and confused. And craving fried pickles.

In spite of herself, she wished that Sheldon was there with her.

"Hello, Ms. Fowler. I'm Jake," the ultrasound tech said. He was young and spirited. "How have you been?"

_Miserable_ , she thought. "I'm fine," she said.

"Great," he answered.

"Although I do have a question," she added.

He shrugged as he pulled the equipment around. "Shoot."

"Why am I having another ultrasound so soon after the other?"

"Ah," he said. "This one was your originally scheduled one. Apparently the other ultrasound was an emergency appointment, or something?" Amy nodded. "Also, the chart said something about an odd fetal presentation." He smiled. "I guess you could have cancelled, but believe me, you want this. We have _way_ better machines than that other facility. Now, if you could just lift up your shirt for me," he suggested. She did as she was told. He pulled out a lidded tube and squeezed out a dollop of clear gel onto her bare skin. Then, taking out a wand, he gently pressed it against her belly, smearing the gel around as he did.

He worked in silence a while, and Amy looked down at her abdomen. While, underneath her clothes, it was barely perceptible, in the open like this, she was starting to show.

"Have any other children?" he asked casually as he moved the wand around. She shook her head.

"Nope, this is,"— _ahem_ —"my first."

But he didn't seem to hear her, and began to look intently at the screen.

"Here we go," he said with a celebratory purr. He pointed to the screen. "You see that?" He pointed to the screen. "That's the money shot."

Amy looked up, not totally sure what she was looking at. Then she focused. For all the wonders she experienced in life… this was by far the most amazing thing she had ever seen.

He pointed more determinedly.

"Look… _there_ ," he said.

Amy's jaw dropped… she could barely believe her eyes.

* * *

Sheldon and his mom entered the plane, nodding at the flight attendant as they made their way to their seats.

"Wasn't it so nice for them to let us get on the plane first?" she remarked as she sat down.

"We paid a pretty penny for the privilege," Sheldon said.

"Well, then, it was a penny well spent."

"Mom, for the record, I would like to state that this was an exceedingly unnecessary expense."

"Oh, it was _very_ necessary," Mrs. Cooper countered. "I have never been so in need of first class treatment—on _your_ dime—in my life."

Sheldon sniffed at that. "And next you'll be having a limousine pick us up from the airport."

Mrs. Cooper liked that idea. "Good thinking, Shelly," she said. "I'll get on that as soon as we touch down."

His pouting only intensified.

"Mom, this is not a vacation, nor even a special occasion."

"Speak for yourself, Shelly. I'm on my way to see my grandbaby for the first time."

"Then you may be disappointed to learn that your 'grandbaby' remains, as yet, unborn. And to reach said grandchild requires confronting a very hormonal and potentially aggressive woman."

"Look, don't ruin this for me Shelly. Your father is dead, I'm retired, and every day I lose you guys a little more to the lives you've carved out for yourselves. I celebrate the little things whenever I get the hankering to, and if that's a crime, lock me up." She reclined her chair, closing her eyes. "Besides, I may never ride in first class again. Who better to share it with than my son?"

He looked at his mother, the woman who had stuck by him in one chaotic episode after the other. He couldn't begrudge her that.

"Mom," he said, newly chastened. "Thank you for… coming with me," he said.

She patted his arms. "Of course, dear. Now see what you can do about getting me a blanket and a pillow."

* * *

Amy was reading a book about pre-natal nutrition. Actually, she was reading a _sentence_ about pre-natal nutrition, the same sentence she'd read ten times. She heard a knock at the door and went to go see who it might be, peering through of the peephole. She didn't see anyone.

"Who is it?" she called. When there was no response she just opened the door.

Suddenly, Sheldon stepped out from behind the bush. Amy was so startled she could feel her stomach in her throat.

"Why did you hide?" she asked.

"I was afraid that you might not open the door," he answered.

Amy put her hand to her chest, trying to regain her composure. She didn't even know what to say. She had spent the last week obsessing over every detail of her and Sheldon's last fight: weighing the arguments; rehearsing things she wanted to tell him; reflecting on things she refused to say… things he refused to do. But now that he was standing there in front of her… she was speechless.

"How did you get here?" she finally asked.

He looked behind him. "My mother brought me."

Amy looked past him and saw the rental car that was parked out in front of the house; Mrs. Cooper was standing by it, shaking out the car mats. At the sight of his mother, Amy's heart sunk. She could only imagine Mrs. Cooper sitting next to him on the plane, going on in her deceptively genteel manner, all the while maligning Amy's name, stoking Sheldon's fears and making herself out to be the unsung heroine of the whole situation. In the battle for the spot of Number One Woman in Sheldon's life, Amy had not only lost the fight… she had lost Sheldon.

"Amy," he finally began. He stood there motionless, scared, and completely in over his head.

She knew how hard moments like this were for him—for anyone really. But _especially_ for him. She decided to help him out and speed things along.

"I know there are a lot of things we need to… discuss," she said, exhausted at the prospect of sorting out this whole messy affair. "Like… custody. Or, just… I guess, visitation or… child support, or something." She realized she didn't even know what to say. Shared custody was the one thing about being a mother she had _never_ researched. It was the very thing she had been trying to avoid. She leaned her forehead against the door jamb.

"Amy," Sheldon started again.

She turned her face towards him. He took a deep breath.

"I love you."

She sat up, the words ricocheting in her head. "What?"

"I love you. And I want to be with you. And I refuse to live a life without you in it."

He took both of her hands in his own. She was stunned by this display of affection, and looked down, staring with amazement at the sinewy digits, unsure of what he was about say next.

"Amy," he said, and as many times as that name had crossed his lips, there was something about this moment that made her feel like he was saying it, _truly_ , for the first time. "Of all the women I've ever known," he continued, almost in a whisper, and the words that previously stumbled out so clumsily suddenly seemed to line up in eloquent rows impatiently waiting to express the things he'd never been able to say, "Of all the women I've ever known… you are the one I am _fondest_ of. I cherish our moments of connection, our congress of thought, and the way we get lost in each others' minds. My efforts to live without you have been in vain, and I hope I am not alone in regretting the time we've spent apart. This past week has taught me in the sorest of ways that it's only with you that I feel home. But most of all, I _need_ _you_ , Amy, and the prospect of cementing our bond in the form of a life… a new _person_ …" —he paused— "is thrilling."

Amy didn't move for a second, and neither did Sheldon. In Amy's most outlandish, indulgent and utopian dreams, she had never imagined… she had never dared… she hadn't even…

She busted out crying. Not gentle tears, not quiet sobs. She was _weeping_ , overcome with a mounting flood of months and months and _months_ of emotion. She was so overcome that she stooped down, pouring her eyes into her hands.

Sheldon—completely overtaken with her reaction—joined her below, crouching just in front of her and patting her on the back.

"I'm sorry," he repeated over and over. "I don't know what I've done, but I'm sorry."

She stopped crying just long enough to look up at his tortured face, then she just… started laughing.

"I love you so much, Sheldon," she said. She visibly saw his face brighten. She went to stand and he helped her to her feet. He glanced down at her belly and placed his hand there.

"How is the baby?" he asked.

" _Babies_ ," Amy corrected. He didn't say anything; had he heard correctly? "I found out during the ultrasound. The AFP levels were so high because… we're having twins."

He didn't say anything, just planted her tear-stained, slobbery, snot-smeared mouth with a kiss. She half thought he would emerge a second later, recoil in horror and run back to Pasadena, never to be heard from again. But instead, he lingered there, and they stood, kissing with everything they were worth, without reserve and without excuse. They kissed to make up; they kissed because they were in love; they kissed because today was _their_ day—and the first day of the rest of their lives.

They were both red-nosed and wearing bright smiles when they pulled apart: smiles that reached from ear to ear.

"Awww, isn't that nice?" Mrs. Cooper said, suddenly appearing behind her son. Alarmed, Amy looked up at her and then back at Sheldon. Her face said, "Why isn't she pepper-spraying us?"

"She had a long talk with Jesus," Sheldon explained. "Turns out it's okay."

Amy nodded. She'd get the details later.

"Amy?" he asked, with a pained face. He was dabbing at his face with his fingers. "Can I come in? I need to use the restroom and… my face is wet… and sticky."

She smiled and then ushered him inside.

* * *

**Five months later.**

Leonard sat, nervously waiting, as the cop walked over from his cruiser.

"Now when that policeman comes," Mrs. Cooper said from the passenger's seat, "let me do all the talking."

Leonard nodded and did as he was told.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blessed event.

Leonard, with Mrs. Cooper in tow, was caught in the throes of a high-speed chase with a police car. Except that… they were the ones doing the chasing and Leonard could barely keep up.

"Mrs. Cooper," he said, winding between cars and flying through red lights. "I can't believe you convinced that cop to give us an escort to the hospital."

"Well, Leonard, just always remember: whenever you talk to someone in authority, you have to be D-N-D."

"DND?" Leonard repeated. "What does that stand for?"

"Dumb, nice and desperate. They'll wanna help your poor soul every time."

"That's good to know," he said, nodding. He sailed through another light.

Soon enough, they arrived at Pasadena General Hospital and the cop—after delivering them, safely and soundly—got out of his vehicle to bid them well.

"Good luck, guys," he said.

"Thank you, Officer," Mrs. Cooper said.

He tipped his hat. "It was my pleasure."

Once he was gone, Leonard and Mrs. Cooper jumped out of the car and ran for the hospital doors. Once inside, they realized that they were more than a bit lost. They studied the hospital map and then bolted for the fourth floor. They spotted a double door with a sign above it that read "Labor and Delivery" and yanked on it. It didn't budge, but they did manage to set off a loud alarm. Suddenly, a foreboding nurse appeared.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

Leonard thought back on Mrs. Cooper's words and feigned dumbness. "Oh, um, well," he stammered. He might have even waved his hands a little. "We just are so, so, so lost. You see, my friend's having a baby as we speak. Think you could help us find our way?"

The nurse looked at him suspiciously.

"Have a name?"

"Leonard Hofstadter."

" _Leonard Hofstadter_ is giving birth?" she said with growing suspicion.

"No, _I'm_ Leonard Hofstadter," he said.

"What's your _friend's_ name?"

"Sheldon Cooper."

" _Sheldon Cooper_ is giving birth?"

"No, no," Leonard said, "His girlfriend is giving birth. Well, not so much his girlfriend but his... well I don't know exactly what they are. I mean, I guess domestic partner would be a better—"

"I'm going to need to verify who you are," she said. "Got some ID?"

Leonard patted his coat and realized he'd left it in the car. It seemed like a good time to be nice and desperate.

"Your scrubs are pretty," he said.

"What?" she responded.

"And we have to get in that room right now," he whined.

She looked at him for a second, baffled.

"SECURITY!" the nurse yelled. Mrs. Cooper jumped up.

"Wait one moment before you call the guard," she begged. "The Sheldon Cooper this young man is referring to is my son. And he is somewhere in this hospital as my first grandbabies come into this world. Now, I'm from out of town and just as loss as I can be, but this gentleman was nice enough to bring me here and I was hoping for a little help in locating my family."

"Twins?" the woman said, softening some.

Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yep, they sure are. I'm just about on the verge of tears thinking about it."

"Awww," the woman said. "Well, I'm sorry for the confusion; it's just, we take hospital security very seriously in the Maternity Ward. We would hate from some weirdo to run in there and snatch up one of the newborns." She shot a look at Leonard.

"And you better never stop taking it seriously," Mrs. Cooper said. "I like to see that you're keeping the place secure."

"Yes ma'am," the lady said. "Follow me; let me get you signed in."

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Sheldon said. She and Leonard followed her to the desk.

"I guess I need a little more practice," he whispered.

Mrs. Cooper sighed. "Well, you certainly got the 'dumb' part down."

* * *

Leonard was thoroughly engrossed with reading _People_ magazine, mostly because it was the only reading material available in the waiting area not dedicated to parenting. He was on the verge of telling Penny the exciting news that the _Arrested Development_ movie was _finally_ going to happen when he looked up and found her in a disturbing state. Her eyes were bugging out and she looked like she had been holding her breath for the last ten minutes.

"You okay?" he asked.

Her head snapped to him and she grabbed his arm with both hands, choking it in a death grip.

"Remember that talk we had a couple months ago when we agreed we both wanted to have kids some day?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "That was a nice talk."

"Scrap it," she said.

This was an alarming development. "Why?"

"Do you _hear_ that?" she asked.

Leonard strained to listen and just managed to make out the muffled screams of women in the thick of hard labor.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

 _"Yeah, I do?"_ she repeated. "All you have to say is 'Yeah, I do'?"

"I mean, it's no secret that labor's a bitch," he said.

"Yeah, but it's a bitch _you_ won't have to deal with. While you're off somewhere, I don't know, skipping around sucking lollipops, I'm going to be going through the most traumatic experience that human body can possibly take."

"I hardly think I would be spending your labor skipping around sucking lollipops," he said.

"That's not the point!" Penny exclaimed. She let go of his arm and he could feel the blood easing back in. "That's it—we're adopting."

 _"Adopting?"_ Leonard repeated. "I mean, I have no problem with the idea in general—"

Just then Mrs. Cooper appeared. "Well it's ixnay on the aborlay," she said, plopping down beside the panicking pair.

"Why? They didn't let you in the room?" Penny asked.

She shook her head. "Apparently, once a woman's contractions get too close together, they don't allow anyone else in."

"Man, if anyone could wiggle past that rule, I thought it would be you," Leonard said.

"Well, every scheme has its limits. No matter how dumb, nice or desperate I acted, that little nurse girl wasn't budging." She squinted her eyes, lost in thought. "I like her. She's probably from Texas."

"Well, Mrs. Cooper," Penny said, "the good news is you shouldn't have to wait long to see your first grandchildren."

"Did someone say 'Mrs. Cooper'?"

An older woman sitting several feet over turned her head in the direction of Penny. Mrs. Cooper looked up puzzled.

" _I'm_ Mrs. Cooper," she said rising and extending her hand. "But I'm afraid I don't know who you are."

"I am Mrs. Fowler," she said standing. "I'm Amy's mom."

A large smile broke out on Sheldon's mom's face. "Well, I'll be. Nice to meet you," she said, and threw her arms around the unsuspecting woman. "How are you?"

"I'm doing just fine," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. I've heard so much."

Mrs. Cooper was wary of that news. "What have you heard?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just that you're an excellent cook and very active in your church." She'd also heard her called the "Wicked Witch of the Southwest," but Mrs. Fowler kept that fact to herself.

"Oh, well—guilty as charged," Mrs. Cooper said.

"And what have you heard about me?" Mrs. Fowler said.

Honestly, she'd heard absolutely nothing. She was darn near sure that the Lord had been the last virgin birth, so Amy must have come from somewhere, but Mrs. Cooper had never quite gotten around to finding out the particulars.

"Oh, just that you've raised a beautiful daughter," she said, scraping together something that was kind of true.

Mrs. Fowler smiled at that. "Guilty as charged," she said and laughed. Mrs. Cooper smiled back like the Cheshire Cat.

"How would you like it if we caught up a little?" she asked.

"I would like that a lot," Mrs. Fowler said. "It's high time that we connected. Better late than never, right?"

"Absolutely," Mrs. Cooper concurred and, throwing an arm around Amy's mom, they strolled off towards the corner. "So," she began, "what are your views on Sunday school?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Dr. Fowler was being subjected to Dr. Cooper's views on labor. He had a stop watch in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

"Now according to the Mayo Clinic's website, which—incidentally—coincides with what I've read elsewhere, you are entering, or quite possibly already well into, the stage of labor called 'transition.'"

"Sheldon," Amy pleaded in between pants, "Can you please give me some ice chips?"

"Ice chips?" he repeated. "In all our Lamaze classes, we learned that ice chips, though something of a cliché in the realm of birthing lore, has very little value to a woman in labor. They provide scant nourishment, are inferior to an actual beverage and possess no anesthetic qualities."

"Can you just give the woman some ice chips?" the nurse said.

"Why?" Sheldon asked.

"To cut back on all that talking," she answered.

Sheldon nodded as he grabbed the cup. "I completely understand. It would be best if she remained silent for her own tranquility."

"No," the nurse said, "it would be best if _you_ remained silent for _my_ own tranquility."

Sheldon scrunched up his face and crouched near Amy's ear. "I don't like her," he whispered.

Moments later the doctor walked in.

"Ms. Fowler, Mr. Cooper, I am Dr. Gupta and I will be delivering these babies for you."

Amy nodded—her face tight, her breathing tighter—fighting not to lose control.

"We are both doctors," Sheldon said.

"Wonderful," the doctor said, putting on gloves. "What are your specialties?"

"I am a theoretical physicist," he answered. "And Amy is a neurobiologist."

"Ahhh… doctors of philosophy," he said. "Fascinating." He sat down on a stool at the level of Amy's pelvis and, after conducting a bit of an examination, chatted with nurses. Then Amy had another contraction. "Now, Amy, can you give us one good push?"

She nodded and—taking Sheldon's hand—gave it everything she had.

"Very nice... and another," he repeated. It went on like this for close to an hour, repeated rounds of contractions and pushing. Amy was growing exhausted. She started crying.

And Sheldon started panicking.

"Don't forget to breathe," the nurse said.

"I won't," Sheldon replied in between heaves of air.

"I was talking to Amy," she said.

"I CAN'T DO THIS!" Amy wailed.

"Don't give up now!" the doctor urged her. "I think we have just a few more pushes and you'll have two babies in your hands. Would you like to see the first baby's head crowning?"

Amy nodded (mostly because it was easier than shaking her head) and looked ahead at the mirror they placed between her legs. She was… astonished at what she saw. She turned to Sheldon who had his free hand over his eyes.

"Sheldon… look," she whispered. Slowly parting two fingers, he gazed towards the mirror.

* * *

"Sorry we're late," Bernadette said as she and Howard joined the spontaneous waiting party, "but Raj spent forty-five minutes trying to decide whether to buy the 'It's a boy and a girl' balloons or the 'Double Trouble' matching onesies for the babies."

"What did he decide on?" Mrs. Fowler asked.

"Both," Bernadette said, fatigue in her voice. A moment later, Raj entered with two large balloons and a gift bag. He leaned over and whispered something to Howard.

"He wants you all to know that Kohl's is having a Midnight Sale, in the case this thing runs long and you still haven't gotten a gift." He shook his head and joined his wife on the bench. "How much longer?" he asked Leonard.

"We don't know, but from the sound of things we think we'll be hearing something soon."

A second later the doctor walked in. "Is there anyone here for the Fowler-Cooper twins?"

His question was answered with a chorus of yeses. Both grandmothers anxiously stood.

"I am happy to report that Amy Farrah Fowler just gave birth to a healthy boy and girl!" he proclaimed.

Cheers rang out through the assembled crowd.

"I called it!" Penny cried. Leonard turned to the doctor.

"When we heard Amy let out that grisly yell a few minutes ago, figured it was just a matter of time," Leonard said smiling.

"Actually," the doctor said, "that was Sheldon."

* * *

Immediately after the birth of the babies, they had been given to Amy for a first feeding and to provide an opportunity for a little mother-son-daughter bonding. Sheldon had watched his family from afar with the awed fascination of a bystander, as if he were having an out-of-body experience. It would have been a day filled with near-overwhelming wonder for anyone, but for Sheldon, it felt like he was literally experiencing the impossible.

After an hour, the twins had been whisked away by hospital staff for bathing, hand and foot prints, vitamin K shots and a myriad of other regulatory tests and procedures mandated for newborns. Also, though the babies seemed to be completely healthy, they had come close to two weeks early and would be especially examined for any complications.

As the initial shock wore off from the labor and delivery, the reality that Sheldon was now a _father_ began to descend on him, and something in his mind shifted. Having been leaning against the wall, bleary-eyed and languid, he suddenly began to pace the floor.

Mrs. Cooper and Mrs. Fowler, who were sitting on opposite sides of the room—equally exhausted, but anxious to see their grandchildren—both sat up and watched him as he prowled about the room.

"You okay, Shelly?" Mrs. Cooper asked.

"Indeed I am not. It has been well over four hours since we've seen the twins. What possibly could be taking so long?"

"I'm sure this is all very normal," Mrs. Fowler said, consolingly. "They have to make sure the babies are hardy and healthy. Besides, there _are_ two of them."

Sheldon stopped pacing; he found her attempts at comfort cloying and unwelcomed, and said so.

"I find your attempts at comfort cloying and unwelcomed."

"Shelly!" Mrs. Cooper gasped, appalled. "She doesn't know what to think anymore than we do, and it's not right for you to take out your frustrations on her. Now you apologize."

He grimaced and turned to the floor. "Sorry," he muttered.

Mrs. Fowler, far from his biggest fan, just turned her head.

The minor outburst didn't wake Amy, who was enjoying much needed rest, but she did stir a little. Sheldon walked over to the bed and sat down beside her, his face the picture of misery.

A little while later, the door swung open and, wheeled in ahead of the nurse, was a wide bassinette bearing the infants. Sheldon practically leapt from his chair, and the mothers with him.

"Well, Dad," the nurse said, "here are the twins. They can stay in here as long as you like, or you can call us back later to take them to the nursery for the night."

"That… won't be necessary," he said.

She nodded. "Will you be staying over?"

He looked at her with offense. "Of course, I will be."

She shrugged. "Most do, some don't. _That_ chair," he said, pointing to where Mrs. Cooper had been sitting, "pulls out into a recliner bed, and I can bring you a blanket." She looked at the grandmothers with a smile. "Visiting hours were over at nine, but since it's the first night, we can be a little flexible," she said. She headed for the door. "Let me know if you need anything."

The three of them gathered around the bassinette and leaned over the new infants, captivated. The boy was wearing a blue cap, while the girl had on a pink one; both babies were fast asleep.

"They are marvelous," Mrs. Fowler said.

"They are that," Mrs. Cooper agreed. "Like a living miracle."

Sheldon didn't say a word, just stood staring.

"Are they back?" came a voice from behind them. They turned around and Amy was sitting up just a little, craning her neck to see.

Sheldon nodded.

"How do they look?"

All three women turned to him, but he didn't say anything and looked back at the bassinette, without answering. Mrs. Cooper filled the void.

"Like angels," she said. "They're just resting up a bit, like their mama."

"Good," Amy said and lied back down, closing her eyes. After a moment, she turned her head. "You should hold them."

She hadn't specified whom, but it was obvious she was talking to Sheldon. He looked at her then back at the babies; the apprehension on his face was unmistakable.

"Yeah, Shelly," his mother goaded. "You should."

"How?" he asked, barely above a whisper. Mrs. Cooper walked towards the sink.

"Well, first we wash our hands," she said. She turned on the water and got some soap, and he joined her. "And then," she said, "you pick them up."

Drying his hand on a paper towel, he looked at one, and then the other, and then back at one, and then the other.

"Which one?"

"You're going to have to learn how to do double-duty; trust me—I know. Here," she said. She lifted the boy and gently placed him in Sheldon's right arm. Then lifted the girl and placed her in his other arm. "There," she said, standing back with some admiration. Despite her fatigue, Amy was smiling behind him.

Sheldon looked down at the tiny human beings in his arms.

"What do you think?" Mrs. Cooper asked.

It took him a while to answer; his eyes welled up.

"They're glorious," he said.

Mrs. Cooper nodded, shedding a tear herself and, tucking her hand under his arm, leaned against his shoulder.

* * *

After weeks of being in the apartment, Amy was growing stir crazy and as the babies reached their first month's birthday, she put a bug in Sheldon's ear about having something of a coming out party for the pair. Mrs. Cooper thought it was a splendid idea, but naturally, Sheldon balked, citing a shortage of space, the expectation of a full meal on the part of the guests, and the potential risk of a double infant death from an infection contracted from someone in attendance as his principal objections. Amy had assured him that she would keep the event small, inform attendees that only light snacks would be provided and wait to bring the twins out for a brief, non-contact visit at some point during the night. He reluctantly agreed to this arrangement on the condition that he could give out gift bags, a contingency she was more than happy to concede to.

On the appointed night, Amy was cheerful as she looked around at an apartment filled with the buzz of cherished friends, workmates and even a few family members. Mrs. Cooper had spent the entire month in Pasadena following the birth, and Missy had just arrived the day before to see the twins and to escort her mother back to Galveston. The event was somewhat doubling as Mrs. Cooper's going-away party. As agreed to, the twins were going to be brought out at 7:00. At the chosen time, Sheldon rallied the crowd.

"Here, here," he began, banging on the side of a glass. "The moment you've all been waiting for has arrived."

Kripke piped up from the back of the crowd. "So thewe wiww be a stwippeh?"

Sheldon looked at him quizzically. "And who invited you?"

"I didn't know this was invitation onwy. I just heawd thewe was gonna be babes hewe."

"Then that brings us to our first order of business," Sheldon said, clearing his throat. "Kripke… _out_."

"He can't go, yet," Stuart said, poking out his head to be seen. "He's riding with me."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to go, too," Sheldon said.

"Give him a few minutes," Amy pleaded in his behalf. "Stuart was really looking forward to this."

Against his better judgment, Sheldon let them stay. "But one more crude, rhotacistic remark from you, Kripke, and you're on the other side of that door." Kripke rolled his eyes. "Now each of you were given a gift bag at the door with clear instructions not to open it until the appointed time."

"That was a nice touch, Amy," Penny said from the front row.

"Actually, it was Sheldon's idea," Amy shrugged. "I had nothing to do with them."

"You may open them _now_ ," Sheldon said. Small cries of glee rang out among the assembled group. They were immediately followed by moans of disappointment.

"Um, Sheldon," Leonard said, "these are just paper masks and latex gloves."

"And what's with this huge blanket, Shelly?" Missy asked.

"It is not a blanket, but a standard-issue hospital gown, and anyone who objects to wearing one can check back with us in five months when the infants' immune systems have been suitably strengthened by the incidental pathogens they encounter and the antibodies found in Amy's breast milk."

A discontented murmur spread throughout the room, and snatches of conversation could be heard, like "psycho" and "OCD" and "I can't believe that's my brother." Over the din, a cough could be heard from the back of the crowd.

"Who was that?" Sheldon asked. The group fell silent and there was no response. "Fine then," he shrugged, "you are all dismissed. The crowd that heaves together, leaves together."

"Sheldon, may I have a word with you?" Amy asked, and started towards the back of the apartment. Sheldon followed, _extremely_ reluctantly.

"Yes… _dear_?" he added for effect.

"While I champion the cause of cleanliness as much as any new mother, you have taken your typical obsession with hygiene to near-psychotic levels."

"I beg to differ," he said. "No amount of hygiene is too great when it comes to the preservation of tender lives."

"Their lives are _not_ in danger," she countered.

"You don't know that," he said.

"Sheldon, this goody-bag incident falls outside the bounds of normalcy; millions of babies survive, and even _thrive_ , with _much_ less stringent codes of—"

Her tirade was interrupted by the sight of Mrs. Cooper wheeling out the two bundles of joy from the bedroom that once belonged to Leonard.

"Is it time yet?" she asked.

Sheldon and Amy stared, spellbound, as their… _children_ lay in the bassinette. They were awake, and writhing about in the enchanting way that small babies do.

"They are amazing, aren't they?" Mrs. Cooper said in response to their quiet awe. "Takes me back to when you and your sister where tiny." She sighed. "And enjoy this… it doesn't last _nearly_ long enough." She kept wheeling them forward and Amy and Sheldon followed.

When they arrived in the front room, they were greeted with "oohs" and "aahs" and general elation from their guests. Everyone crowded around them, careful not to get too close lest they draw Sheldon's wrath.

"Aditi really looks like Sheldon," Penny said.

"I dunno. I think she looks a lot like Amy," Bernadette said. "Robert is the one that looks just like his dad."

Raj leaned towards Sheldon's ear, but Sheldon pulled away.

"Raj, we've been over this before," he said. "Speak or remain silent, but please refrain from using my ear as a spittoon." Annoyed, Raj returned to his standard interpreter.

"Raj says he's really excited to see that they're wearing the onesies," Howard said.

"I told Mrs. Cooper to put them on," Amy said with a smile and a nod.

Bernadette's phone vibrated and she stepped into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Why the hell doesn't Howard have his phone on?" Mrs. Wolowitz shouted through the phone.

"I think he turned it off so it wouldn't ring," Bernadette answered.

"Why the hell would you have a phone if you don't want it to ring?" she asked.

Bernadette sighed. "Did you want something?"

"I just want you to send my apologies to Amy and Sheldon. I would have loved to make it tonight, but I just came down with the most outrageous case of explosive diarrhea, like you wouldn't believe."

"I might," Bernadette said.

"Can you send them my love?"

"I will."

"And what are the little bubelehs' names again?"

"Robert Sheldon and Aditi Amy Fowler Cooper."

"Adee _what_?"

"Aditi."

"Ohhh. Must be a family name," she said, dismissively.

"Actually," Bernadette explained. "Robert is named for Robert Oppenheimer, Sheldon's favorite physicist, and Aditi is named for Aditi Shankardass, a neuroscientist Amy admires."

"Well, you and Howard better not pull any stunts like that," she said. "Give grandma some nice Jewish grandbabies with nice Jewish names."

Bernadette just sighed.

Meanwhile, Missy had parked next to Sheldon. "Well, I never thought you'd give Mom the first grandkids," she said.

"Nor I," he answered. "I actually never imagined that I would give Mom any grandchildren at all."

" _That's_ what a special woman does to you," she said. They watched the infants a little longer. "You think they'll grow up to be like us: one, freakishly smart and successful and the other one irresistibly charming and drop-dead gorgeous?"

Sheldon didn't like the thought of that. "I certainly hope not; it's my wish that they both turn out to be like me, of course," he answered.

"Good Lord, Shelly," she said, "Don't you love them babies at all?"

He turned to her, not the least bit amused, and watched as she walked off, chuckling to herself.

* * *

Predictably, Sheldon checked out of the gathering early, and by the time the last guests (Missy and Penny) had gone, he was collapsed on the bed, fully dressed and sound asleep; an open book was draped across his chest. Upon further examination, Amy realized it was…

The children's book. She wasn't sure where it had come from: Mrs. Cooper, maybe, or the mail. She slowly lowered herself to the bed and, gingerly, she extracted the publication from his fingers, then stared at the cover. "" it was called, and it featured a young girl and a young boy; she didn't know if it was him and her or the twins.

She opened the book and, thumbing through the first few pages, came across this:

[](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_md0apukh8H1qcqxh7o1_500.jpg)

**_Dedication:_ **

  
_To_  
 _Mary Cooper, the woman who gave me life  
_ _Amy Farrah Fowler, the woman with whom I share my life  
_ _My twins, Aditi and Robert, who have amplified my life  
_ _With love_  


If there was a better way to end a night, Amy couldn't think of one. She took off her shoes and snuggled in next to Sheldon, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating.

* * *

The following morning, Sheldon and Amy gathered by the door as Mrs. Cooper got ready to catch her taxi.

"If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me," she told Amy. "Boy/girl twins ain't nothing to sneeze at. Trust you me, they can be a handful."

"I will," Amy said, and the two women hugged. "Have a safe trip back, Mrs. Cooper."

"Now, if I've told you once, Amy, I've told you a million times. _Please_ , call me Mary."

Amy bore a bashful smile, then nodded. "Okay, _Mary_ , have a safe trip back."

"I will," she assured her. "Now, when you two get married, you can call me 'Mom'."

Amy gave Sheldon an awkward look as he grabbed his mother's luggage and shuffled her out of the door.

"Mom," he said as they started down the stairs, "I've told you many, _many_ times before that I do not subscribe to your Judeo-Christian norms, and neither does Amy. So, I beg of you, don't enforce them upon us."

"You're right, Shelly," she conceded. "I shouldn't meddle. I'll just leave the matter to you and Amy."

"Thank you," he said.

Little did he know, his mother's fingers were crossed behind her back.

Mrs. Cooper never could get her kids to come around to her way of thinking, but she usually got them thinking about coming around to her way. Of course, when Sheldon finally did decide to get married, it didn't have anything to do with Biblical morality.

But that's another story for another day.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Book art by the illustrious [rubyanjel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyanjel/pseuds/rubyanjel).

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to give 1 million points to my beta, In the dark. Follow the Son. She rocks. Seriously. All errors are mine. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.


End file.
